Never Had
by intotheblue101
Summary: Katniss never had a chance, they never do entering the Games. But coming out without Peeta ruined her. It's when a prior victor willingly comes to her rescue things change... but for the better or the worse? With the Capitol watching, the Districts stirring, and the haunting of their own Games, Cato and Katniss fight to survive.
1. Chapter 1

I

…

It just happened.

It was bound to happen, there were only two choices that the Games offered:

die or give in

My soul - it just slipped away from me and I… I gave in.

I don't know exactly when it left me, but it did. I made my choice, I gave in and my soul was the price.

Maybe it was after the first kill or the eighth. It could have been the eleventh one, too.

It could have been at any time that I let go of it. And now I was too lost to tell when. My humanity, morality, personality was long gone in the woods which surrounded me.

I was thirteen kills deep and only one from leaving this forsaken beauty.

Left in the black shirt, brown cargos, and boots they dressed me in, I trudged through the brush. My clothes were torn, skin coated in dirt, and hands dyed maroon. The bow I had killed to get in the beginning of these games was slung over my back beside the quiver. I had a knife in my right boot and another in the waist band of my pants.

I continue through the woods till I make it to the clearing, the Cornucopia. This was where this hell began and was where it would end.

I stand there, I'm not sure for how long, but I stand there waiting till he is there.

In that moment I heard him step through the brush into the clearing everything seems to happen in just a matter of seconds.

I turn around, pulling the bow from over my head and swinging it at him like a sword. I slice him from the chest up to the hairline along his forehead. It's barely a flesh wound, but it's enough to draw blood. He smirks at my flawed attempt to harm him and takes a swing with his axe at my midsection.

I react fast enough, jumping back and in the process launch an arrow at him. It punchers him in the opposing collarbone causing him flinch. Yet it's not enough to stop him. This boy was trained to kill, to embrace pain, to rip the heads from bodies… an arrow to the shoulder was nothing, but a scrape on the knee.

He comes back swinging. Out of the four shots he takes though, only one hits. It's as I jolt away from a swing to the head that he too quickly for my mind to register brings the axe down, slicing me across the side of my stomach – deep.

Skin opens and blood seeks it way out. A sharp pain jolts through me as I move, but it's an unfelt agony.

I have been stung, burned, and sliced. I have killed and watched killings. Emotion, agony had left me.

Reaching back, I pull out the last of my arrows from the quiver. I pull back the string, launching them out. One pierces him right under his dominant arm causing him to drop the axe, another drives into his knee, and the last follows the second arrow to the knee, so precisely that it splits the arrow down the middle, driving its head deeper into his flesh.

And then he falls.

I tug at the quiver's string, allowing it to fall off my back. I drop the bow and pull the knife from boot. Then I'm on top of him. I jab the knife into his side as I grind my boot into his already injured knee. He grinds his teeth, a scream strains on his lips, but doesn't let the pain other take him.

As I reach for the knife in my waist, he makes his move. His one hand wraps around my neck while the other grabs at the flesh where he had cut me across the side. I grind my teeth and like him fight the urge to scream. Yet I don't let him have the upper hand. I put my free hand around as much of his neck that my hand will allow me, applying enough pressure to shorten his breaths, while the other hovers with the knife at his chest.

There we lay at a stalemate.

It's after a long moment that he smiles up at me, unnoticeably loosening his grip on me. "Do it."

I don't do anything.

"Do it!" He screams.

Yet I still don't do anything.

"Kill me," he spits, "Let me die with dignity, let me die free."

His words catch me off guard.

_Let me die free. _

Ironic.

_None of us were free. We were all ants under a magnify glass. We all burned alive under the Capitol: hunger, poverty, the Games. _

He smiles at me, a snide like smile. His eyebrows waggle at me, tempting me. His fingers drum along my neck and dig deeper into the flesh at my side.

And then without knowing, without thinking I jab the knife into his heart.

The cannon goes off.

It's over.

There's blood on my hands. It's scarlet and bends with the other's which dyed my skin.

Someone is shouting, congratulating me.

The wind picks up, blowing strands of hair into my face and the boy's blood across my chest and out to the woods.

The body below me still bleeds and I realize my hands are still wrapped around his neck, suffocating and plundering him to death as if I hadn't already done the job.

A craft comes through the force field. Its door open and Haymitch stands there looking to me with a thin expression. He lets out a breath, before stepping off. Two Peacekeepers follow.

"Let's go, sweetheart."

And like that, they escort me out of the hell they had put me in as easily as they did when they lead me here weeks ago. Yet it's all different now, Panem, the Games, me… but in reality as I look back at the brush, the body, the bow, the blood, the brutality I know I'm never escaping this hell.


	2. Chapter 2

II

…

Katniss Everdeen.

The Kind Soul.

The Volunteer.

The Girl on Fire.

...

I knew from the beginning, that she was the one. There was no doubt in my mind. The moment her voice rang through that crowd of coal covered people, I knew she'd be the one that came out on top. She would win.

She had something over the others didn't…

a cause-

a drive-

a will-

a spark-

Yes, the other tributes had their families and friends, girlfriends and boyfriends to get back home to, but this girl had something else. She had something more important and significant to push her. She had her world. That little girl, her sister, Prim or Rose or whatever-her-name-was was everything to her. I could just tell by the way in which her body reacted to the girl's name being called, the way her voiced strained as she called out her own name in sacrifice. It was the look in her eyes that said it all though.

That little girl was all she had and she was all that little girl had - you could just see it.

That was why she volunteered. That little girl was all she had, she was her world. It was her responsibility to protect her, to take her place in the slaughter, to save her from horrors and brutality of the Games. It was her mission to keep her alive. And it was her will that would drive her to come out alive, too.

If she didn't make out, that little girl wouldn't survive.

Survive.

That was purpose of the Games. That was the purpose of our lives. And that girl was a survivor, it was just her nature.

That was why I didn't bother with my tributes. They weren't _it_. They had no chance. They weren't going to win the Games no matter how much the Capitol might adored them or how much training they had under their belt.

They didn't have the drive, the nature to survive, _the spark_.

They had the training and the power, but what did they have to come back to… a house they didn't need? a reason to boast more than they already had did when they were trainees? money they already had enough of? a family and friends that didn't care about them, but their winnings? a room of children that by the age of five knew how to kill with their bare hands to train? a title that was worth nothing more than the effort put out to announce them?

They had nothing in the world that stuck out to them.

They had nothing in the world that was worth living for.

It was when the opening ceremony came along she proved herself even more worthy of winning. It was there that she proved herself important, not only to me, but the Capitol. The eyes Capitol fondled over her. She was naturally beautiful. Her small petite frame, olive skin, lush dark hair, and speckled gray eyes of silver were just the most breathtaking I had ever seen. Yes, Cinna's designs helped, but there was without a doubt that she didn't need the flame to burn bright.

She was beautiful, but not just in her features, but the way in which she moved as well.

At training she fell into the shadows, but if you watched her close enough, you'd notice her eyes glancing over at the bow. She looked at it as if was hers.

Of course, my tributes were not smart enough to pick that up on this and I didn't bother to tell them. Why would I tell them? They had the training to help them triumph over the others yet they were too arrogant to think anything of it.

If you couldn't notice the obvious, you were good as dead.

So the eleven she scored didn't surprise me the least bit.

What did surprise me that she was how much of a naturalist she was in front of the cameras.

She was awkward, that was without a doubt. The Capitol might not have seen it, too distracted by her beauty, but the rest of Panem knew, they could tell that there in the silk and gems, makeup and lights she was out of place. It was a cute awkward though, like a child. That's why the Capitol saw her as the natural-camera-reliant, innocent, older sister from 12.

I had witnessed it, made note of it. I had first seen it in the way she looked away from the cameras at the Reaping and out to the boy that had pulled her sister away from her. I witnessed it when she had made her way into the tribute building from the train, the way she disappeared behind the boy from her district as the camera flashed. I had witnessed it as she enter the stadium at the opening ceremony and walked onto the stage at her interview, her cheeks turned a light shade of pink and she looked away down at her shoes as if she couldn't take the attention.

She was modest and humble… and utterly, completely awkward.

Haymitch had even said so, how awkward she was, himself when I had first met him at the bar for drinks.

Haymitch.

I'm not sure why that man dealt with me. I was the enemy. I was from 2 and he was from 12. I was the man who had killed his tribute before the first day was over during my Games.

He dealt with me though.

I was shocked when Effie had informed me that he decided to meet me the first night for drinks. I'm sure he knew. He knew I wanted to get her out of the arena just as much that little girl back in the district didn't want her to leave. He had to know by the look of my face when he had caught sight of me in the tribute center. He had to have known or else he wouldn't have agreed to meet me, there'd be no other reason for why he asked, "_Why_?"

And if I hadn't been sure that he knew I was entirely captivated by his tribute I wouldn't have honestly responded, "Because she has the right to live."

After that, we met nightly. We said few words, but it was enough. We had the mutual understanding that she would survived.

I would watch over her from my station during the Games, hoping for the best, and Haymitch was going to… try.

Hell, the man even sobered up.

When she entered the arena, that was the worst moment of my life. As the number slowly diminished on the screen I knew this was it. Life or death. She would either make it out alive or she'd be sent home in a wooden box.

The moment the number "1" diminished in the sky, she went off. Yet she didn't go sprinting for the Cornucopia like the others. She went off in the complete opposite direction. She disappeared into the woods, far away from any harm. Six people died in the blood bath.

On the second day, two more tributes were killed.

It was on the third day that the boy was killed, the other tribute from her district. Mellark, Peeta Mellark. That moment changed everything.

Especially after his universal announcement of his love for her during his interview with Caesar, things had been tense. He loved her. It wasn't a front to get the attention of the Capitol like it did, it was real. His declaration of love was the last thing he had that held value as a human being. And the boy he was, he knew he wasn't going to get out of there alive and so he took his chance and let her know how he felt, a chance that I assumed he hoped would help him get her out of there alive.

Yet, as much as he loved her, she didn't return the favor. All of Panem knew that - not really, not in the beginning. The Capitol's hearts were broken the day they found out, though. Not only was it the boy's death that tore them apart, but the video they released of Katniss slamming up against the wall after his interview, shouting at him shortly after his death.

She didn't love him, but she cared about him.

The boy had joined the careers on the first day. They were using him, but I suppose he didn't think too much of it. The only logical reason I could think of why he joined them was that he thought he could possibly save her if he had them on his side or delay her to-be death.

It was on the third day that they had chased her up a tree. The only problem was they couldn't get her down. They tried to climb the tree, they tried shooting at her with the bow and arrow, and they even tried chopping down the tree with an axe. All attempts failed miserably. That's when the boy from 1 pulled out his knife and stabbed the boy through the throat.

She watched as her only connection, link to her home was slaughtered before her own eyes.

They used the boy as a source of torture.

That night they camped out at under the tree, left the boy's body seated up against the tree, craved and bloody. That night she killed two of them with a Trackerjacker nest that was in a nearby branch. That night she required the bow and arrow. That night she changed.

From that day on she killed one person a day.

She was the only person that killed over the next twelve days.

She killed fourteen of the twenty-three tributes. She triumphed over my record of nine kills.

When she killed my tribute, number twenty-three, I was beside Haymitch on the hovercraft. Together we watched as made her final kill.

It was a horrific sight, not the kill, but her. She wasn't the same girl that shouted at the top of her lungs to save the life of her sister. She wasn't the same girl that was meant to be the runaway lamb on the slaughter. She was a killer, a cold blooded killer. Her frame was thin, thinner than before, sickly thin. Her hands soaked in her doings, red. Her face was expressionless, emotionless. And her eyes were vacant, completely lost without her soul.

There was no more spark.

In that moment the cannon sounded I stepped to the door, but Haymitch stopped me.

He shook his head.

I was utterly stunned. He couldn't stop me. I was in too deep to pull myself away from her now. She was far worse than broken. She was just a girl. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be with her sister, attending school in the winter, and fighting for her life on a smaller scale. She wasn't supposed to be here, bloody and broken. She wasn't supposed to be the next me.

"I can't let her become me," I spit at him angrily, pushing for the door.

"I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that won't happen, boy."

"Haymitch-"

"If you get involved in this, boy, you'll be at risk."

"I'm already in-"

"Boy."

I looked him in his eyes and I knew he was being honest with me. Yet he knew by the look in my eyes that I wasn't one to give in.

Letting out a breath, he stepped to the door, two Peacekeepers in tail.

They brought her back to the hovercraft in a matter of minutes. She was shaky and lost. I could tell she didn't know anymore, her mind was too shot. Her soul had been torn from her body and she didn't know what or where she was anymore, figuratively and literally.

She was broken.

I had to notion to step forward into her line of vision and make myself known. I don't know what I was thinking of doing when she saw me. I didn't know what I thought I was going to say to her either. All I knew was that I had to save her. I had to seen, I had to make myself known to her, that's all I knew.

Yet the moment she turned her focus away from Haymitch toward my direction, one of the Peacekeepers drew a needle. He pierced her in the arm, sedating her.

I don't know if she saw me, she could have, there was the possibility, but by the time the Peacekeeper withdrew the needle she was gone. Her fame loosened as her hands unclenched. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her legs fell out from under her.

I lunged forward, catching her before she could clash against the metal floor.

And in that moment, as my arms wrapped around her, I knew.

She was worth it all.

I knew I had stepped into a world of the unknown. There would be risk and inquiries that we would be faced with - possibly. Two opposing districts coming together, it was scandalous - possibly. And if there was more, it would be worse - possibly. All eyes would be on us and the tiniest mess or event could, would ruin her, me, us - possibly. In that moment I knew there was no possibilities, I was willing to truly risk everything for this girl.


	3. Chapter 3

III

…

It's not like it was before. Haymitch had even told me so, that it wouldn't be the same the moment we stepped onto the hovercraft. I suppose I didn't believe, didn't want to believe him. I mean, I know I wasn't the same… but I didn't expect everything else to be so _different_.

…

When I had woken up I was in white.

White.

Just white.

The walls were white and so was the door. Even the small cracks in the white, tile floor were the purest shade of white I had ever seen. The blinds covering the window were white and so was the seat that was positioned under the window. I was dressed in all white: a pair of white, loose fitting pants and a tight, white shirt that didn't cover my shoulders and dipped down like a "U" at my chest. The bed I was laid out on was covered in white sheets as well as a couple white, fluffy pillows.

Yet it wasn't all white. There was the silver doorknob on the door, the silvery metallic piece of machinery that was positioned beside me… and the thin, silver band that was wrapped around my right wrist.

_Katniss Everdeen -_ was engraved in it followed by, _D12F_.

_An I.D. band? A tracker? I _thought._ But why, the Games were over… right?_

Then in that moment as I became fully wake, realizing what had happened between the Games and the other tributes and the Capitol and the haunting horrors, doctors came rushing into the room.

And in that moment something set me off, a trigger was pulled. It was like back in the arena all over again. They weren't right, the doctors. They were too white and pure, crazy and pink, shiny and happy. They were too _Capitol-y_.

They weren't right.

But they were there with to heal me. They were there with needles and herbs and vials and clothes and odd tools. They were there to glue me back together. They were there to fix… the gash along my side, the bruises around my neck, the healing slice along my forehead, the dozen of cracked ribs, broken pinky finger, and appalling malnutrition.

They weren't _right_ though, something was off, wrong.

The Games it-

My senses-

My mind-

I, me,-

_Ahhh_, I internally groan.

They weren't going to heal me.

_No. _

I wasn't going to allow it.

And then, as if the trigger was pulled back to the farthest it could be, something was ignited.

In the first thirty seconds two were unconscious, three were wounded in some shape or form, and another two stood hands up far away from me as possible in surrender. In the next five, I was on standing on the ground. In the ten that followed, I was free of the silver band they had locked tight around my wrist. In another ten, I was already on the lobby floor. Then…

I was out the door.

…

The Peacekeepers were in a panic when I entered the tribute building. They were rushing around, shouting orders, and checking their arms. They almost didn't see me.

Almost.

Yet when I was spotted the air turned from panic to utter stillness. It was like the calmness that washed over the forest before the eye of the storm hit. It was complete and utterly peaceful… but that was without a doubt too good to be true.

There's a long moment and then it happened. One of the Peacekeepers stepped forward and I became that… _person_.

The Peacekeeper that had stepped forward puts his hands up as if he was telling me he meant no harm, that he was surrendering. He acted as if he was approaching a wolf. And I was the - I was the wolf.

Therefore, slowly I step away from the wall before snapping, breaking into a full force sprint. The Peacekeeper reaches for the gun in his holster, but his actions are not quick enough. I drop down, sliding against the floor. I swipe his feet from under him, grabbing the metal baton from his belt in the process.

Then back on my feet again I swing the baton at an oncoming Peacekeeper.

He falls, down for the count.

It's then the other Peacekeepers standing around come to reason that I'm not going down without a fight.

Grasping their own batons, together they each took a step forward.

There's a pause - the moment before the attack, the first lighting strike, before the first droplet of water was to fall - and then I make my move.

Running for the one that stands the closest in front of me, he pulls back his arm to swing, but like the other, his actions aren't quick enough. I knee him in the gut, holding him up to block the blow from the Peacekeeper that comes from behind him. A knee to the gut and a baton to the spine he falls. I bring my baton up, connecting it with the throat of the man who had just swung at me before kicking my leg back into another, the Peacekeeper's knee, that was coming up from behind me.

As the man behind me falls, one from beside me comes out from my blind spot and he… gets in a hit.

His baton hits me along my side, connecting with my broken ribs and wounded flesh. And it's in that one moment I lose my breath, half falling to my knees. Yet I stay standing, bringing my elbow close to my chest before jerking it back till I hear the crack of the man's nose.

He lets out mumbled curses while I on the other grasp my side as a slick wetness escapes.

Gritting my teeth, I advance to the doors ahead, not taking my time. The fault, two men go down in the process. It's when I'm standing in front of the doors, they gracefully swing open. I quickly step into the small compartment, the elevator, and the doors gratefully shut behind me just before the remaining, charging Peacekeepers can slip in themselves.

As the compartment begins to move up, I allow myself to relax, falling against the wall.

Hand still resting along my side, my flesh continues to bleed, burning in agony.

I grasp it tight, as if it would make it all better yet it does the complete opposite.

Hand grasped to my side, the other still gripping the baton, my breaths quick and shallow, and mind reeling I nearly don't notice the doors open to a familiar floor. But when I do realize that the elevator had taken me as far as it was allowed, I drop the baton and push myself off the wall into the penthouse.

The place seems disserted. Not a thing looks out of order since I let. The furniture is empty and no noises through the halls.

Further into the penthouse, I find myself at the bar.

Running my fingers along the tops of the bottles, I admire their glass forms and rustic colo-

I take one of the bottles in hand, turn, and throw.

The bottle smashes against the wall and the honey-brown liquid stains the innocent surface of the wall. And then there's a pause-

Haymitch stares at me and I stare back. He doesn't blink and neither do I. It's a strained standstill.

It isn't till one of the pieces of glass that had stuck to the wall after impact falls to the ground, barely making anymore sound than a falling leaf onto a soft layer of grass, but it comes down clashing like a boulder. It's then as the piece of glass breaks a second time onto the floor that Haymitch gives in to the standstill held between the two of us, speaking the first words.

"Sweetheart," he says, looking me in the eyes, "What the hell you doing?"

I don't say anything.

"Sweetheart, you broke out of the Capitol hospital, just about paralyzed one of the doctors, killed one Peacekeeper, critically injured the rest of them you laid a hand on, and without a doubt pissed Snow the fuck off."

I don't say anything.

"Sweetheart." He says, voiced strained yet stern.

And then his eyes leave mine.

"Sweetheart," he says this time pitifully, taking in the blood coming from my side and newly forming bruises along the rest of my body.

I don't say anything.

He shakes his head at me.

"Grab that bottle with the mud-like color liquid and go sit on the table," he orders me as he walks out the room and down the hall.

I don't move.

Yet Haymitch knows me too well to listen as his voices rings through the hall, more stern and demanding than before. "Do it, sweetheart!"

And I obey.

He comes back a moment later and sits down on a chair in front of me with a small white box. Getting settled, he opens the box pulling out a needle, thread, and a knife. Without recognition, I shrink away from him only coming known of the fact of my actions when Haymitch grasp my wrist in his hand.

"You don't let me fix ya up I'll have to take you back to the docs," he pauses looking me in the eye, "Okay?"

I nod.

He nods himself, getting to work: rolling my shirt up to my chest, examining the open gash, threading the needle, piercing the skin, piecing me back together, wiping the surface of the red liquid, and spreading a clear liquid over the flesh.

When done, he wipes his hands on the rag that he pulls from box before reaching for the bottle beside me. He twists the cap and takes a swig. Then he hands the bottle to me.

"Drink." He orders, informing me: "I need a good reason to explain to the Capitol why the hell you fled a hospital and attacked numerous people in the process."

I look to him confused.

"Sweetheart, look at me," he says, "Liquor = uncontrolled behavior. And beside the fact that you are… irrational, the Capitol doesn't need to know that. You're gonna get drunk and we're gonna use it to our advantage, blame it on those docs saying you were over medicated and acted out as a consequence of whatever drugs they had you hooked up to."

I process what he said, allowing it to click. And then, when it does sink in, I take a drink from the bottle.

"Good."

…

My vision is blurred. The sensitivity level of my hearing has increased by… a thousand. I can't seem to focus… on anything. My mind's out of control, jumpy and hazed… like fog. I'm not in command of my body… disconnected.

Everything's not – not right.

And then…

Something unknown, a tall stature – possibly a man, enters the room causing it to shift or so it felt. I feel myself shift with the room, leaning to the left, and the bottle slip from my fingers. It slips from my grasp almost gracefully, clashing down against the ground into a million pieces, erupting into a loud volume of something like thunder in the sky.

I wince.

Then there's another shift in the room and I fall to my side.

"What'd you do?" I hear an unfamiliar voice say.

"Calm it, boy." I hear Haymitch's voice say from somewhere far off in the room.

"Why's she drunk, Mitch?"

"Need to fix the situation somehow."

"And this is how you _fix_ the situation, you get her drunk?"

I don't know what Haymitch says or does next, but I assume it's next to nothing as the other voice speaks up after a long moment.

"Way to be a fuckin' mentor, Haymitch, way to be."

There's another silence, but this one is short. Then it's filled with the sound of footsteps coming toward me. They're the property of the other voice, the one that isn't Haymitch's, because as the closer they come to me, the smell of alcohol I know I myself is smothered in does not grow. The level of stench does not change as if it would have if it had been Haymitch approaching me.

The footsteps stop just in front of me and then I fill myself being lifted up. I'm held against something warm yet hard as I'm carried away. I'm sure, even in my befuddled mine that I'm taken from the room and down the hall to one of the bedrooms as I after being carried for so long I feel myself being laid down of something that is equal in comfort and firmness. Something soft is tucked under my head and something warm is brought over to cover my body.

Whoever had carried me here doesn't leave though.

And me, in my drunk and disorderly state know this, roll over to my side and look up at the person.

The image is just as blurred as if was before. The only think I can seem to make out is a tall and board figured person, most likely a man, and the shades of gold and blue and gray.

I squirm on the bed, childishly fighting the blanket I find myself entangled within.

Yet then for the first time I see the figure move. One of its limbs, an arm, comes down, tucking a few stray hairs behind my eye, whispering, "Shhh."

Something else is said, more, but my mind doesn't seem to register.

And then slowly, I fade away.


	4. Chapter 4

IV

…

I didn't leave the penthouse after carrying Katniss to her room that night. Instead, I spent the rest night on one of the couches in the living room to Effie's dislike. And without a doubt in my mind that Brutus and Enobaria would have something to say, nice or not, about my time spent in the penthouse on my return whenever that would be.

I was glad though that I stayed because -

She wasn't… well in the morning.

She was up well before seven. We didn't have to go into her room to know she was awake either, we knew by the stumbling and clashing and rumbles that came down the hall.

Haymitch went down to her rescue with a cup of coffee shortly after we heard her moving around. Cinna was rushing down the hall within minutes following and Effie was right behind him with a blanket and worried expression on her face.

All the while, I sat at the table across from Portia, the boy Peeta's stylist.

Then the next thing I knew, Peacekeepers were coming off the elevator. One by one they came, in a straight soldierly-like line. Doctors were in tail after the Peacekeepers, too. One I recognized as Aurelius, the doctor who had treated me after my games.

They, the Peacekeepers nor the doctors, bothered with us though. Not even a glance. They went directly down the hall towards Katniss's room.

There was shouting and crying and crashing. At one point I nearly went down to find out what the hell was going on. But just as I was standing up from my chair, I heard Haymitch's voice boom through the room and down the hall.

Everything seemed to fall silent in that moment – silent, silent.

Then one by one people were retreating from the hall. The Peacekeepers were first. Then Effie followed, tears smuggling her elaborate pink and golden makeup. The rest on the doctors except Aurelius appeared next. Cinna was the last down out.

He came straight to me, clasping his hand on my shoulder giving me a thin smile.

"She's doing fine, Cato. She's just experiencing some mild reactions from the large amount of morphine she was give," he says reassuring me, playing along with Haymitch's cover story of why Katniss had run from the Capitol hospital and attacked a number of people in the process, "Aurelius is just making sure her system in calming down now."

I nod my head knowing what he actually meant:

"She was just experiencing some common sickness - confusion, off-balance, an uneasy stomach, dry mouth, chills, etc., etc. - as the result of the immense amount of alcohol Haymitch had made sure she had consumed last night and Aurelius is checking now to make sure she isn't going to die."

So we sit there and wait. And we wait for a while. Two, three hours may have passed before Haymitch and Aurelius reappear.

Haymitch clapped Aurelius on the back as they came down the hall and Aurelius gave him a small smile. He then muttered a few words between the two of them that caused Haymitch to crack a smile.

When they reached the main room where we were all seated the Peacekeepers snapped up, Effie looked to Aurelius worried, and Cinna looked as he always does.

"Katniss is fine," Aurelius reassures us. "She's asleep now and will probably be unconscious for the next twenty-four hours more or less. She was overmedicated which was most likely the result of yesterday's events."

…

Not long after the Peacekeepers and doctors cleared out, everyone else did too. Haymitch and Effie went off to talk to the press and… Snow. They had to explain what the hell had happened, smooth over any and all worries. Aurelius went off to file a report on Katniss's condition and treatment given for her "morphine overdose." Cinna went to make some adjustments to Katniss's evening gown for her crowning and interview with Caesar tomorrow. And Portia went along with Cinna.

And I, I was left at the table with Katniss down the hall.

A while passed before I stood up and made my way down the hall. But I didn't go to Katniss's room as I had thought that was where my feet were carrying me. Instead, I found myself entering the boy's room.

Mellark.

Peeta Mellark.

The Baker.

Lover Boy.

Most of the tributes left their room in a mess. But this Peeta Mellark was different.

The room was seamless.

It's presentable and untouched natured caused me to think Peeta Mellark was an oddly, simple boy.

The bed was neatly made, pillows aligned against the headboard in size and shape order. Clothes were precisely hung inside closet, in order as well, from sort of clothing to fashion and design. Not a fiber of the carpet was brushed in the opposite direction. The only reason I knew this wasn't the doing to the Avoxes was because of the thin layer of dust collecting on the windowsill.

The only thing that was of the ordinary was a thin, white sheet of paper folded in three on the nightstand beside the bed.

A letter, a goodbye.

They were common remnants among tributes.

Walking over to the table, I take the paper in hand.

_To whom it may concern._

It read in thin, black ink along the front. Then on opening it read:

_To whom it was concern,_

_If this letter is found it means I, Peeta Mellark, did not make it out of the Arena alive. In return of my absence, I hope that means Katniss Everdeen was the one that made it out of the Games in one piece, to be crowned the 74__th__ Hunger Games Victor. If she did not make it out, like me, than there is no use of you reading the rest of this letter. Yet, if she did survive the Game, please continue reading. _

_Since I am not there and Katniss is, my greatest wish has been attained - that she is alive. _

_Now, all I ask is for one more thing - that she is taken care of, watched over. _

_I know this task won't be easy, but please try to your best to care, watch over her stubborn self. _

_Haymitch, if you are reading this, please do your best to sober up… or cut back on the amount of alcohol you consume. Katniss has already lost her father and it will be a great harm to her if she losses you, too. She does look up to you, do matter how many times she may try to cut off one of your finger. She will need you to help mentor her over the years, on how to be a victor as well as how to be a mentor. Please be patient with her Haymitch, you know she will not take coming out of the Arena well. _

_Effie, if you are the one that has found my letter please continue to be yourself, but… be easy on her. Katniss is not "girly." She will not fit into the "Capitol scene" as you would like. She is not one for fashion or people or… manners. She will do her best to follow you lead in what to wear and how to act, but she will never be able to do so perfectly. And yes, she may talk back to you, but please don't think much of it. She is not a people person like you or a fashion extraordinaire. Just - just be kind to her._

_Cinna and Portia. Be the friends that she already thinks of you as. Cinna, she loves you not just for your lavish designs, but because of your gracious kindness and simplicity. Portia, I'm sorry I'm not there myself to say this, but thank you. Katniss, herself, I am sure without a doubt is thankful for all you have done for me as well as her even if she won't say so. She's stubborn. Please, both of you, be her friend and don't make her wear her anything that isn't "her."_

_If you are reading this and are none of the people I had addressed above, all I ask is for you to be there. Become her friend, watch over her, be patient, protect her, be kind, keep her safe, and do whatever you can to make your she survives properly, not an alcoholic like Haymitch is what I mean, no offense Haymitch. Do whatever you can to be sure she gets what she deserves, the best._

_Now I can ask no more of you, but just hope that you will try to fulfill what I have asked of you. _

_Thank you._

_Peeta Mellark _

I grasp the paper in my hand, rereading it one, two, three more times.

Then after so many times I have every word memorized, engraved in my head. I glance over the letter one more time before folding the letter back into its original creases and then in half, tucking it away into my jacket pocket. 

_I'll do my best, Mellark. _

…

Effie left us in the living room long ago saying she had to get her beauty sleep for the coming day. Cinna had finally excused himself just moments ago, ready to finally give in to the night. And Portia, she had never actually come to sit with us after returning with Cinna from making adjustments to Katniss's gown. Now only Haymitch and I remained.

"You really doing this boy?" He asks after taking a long drink from his glass.

I nod.

"I hope you know what you're getting' yourself into."

"I can deal with the Capitol," I inform him, "Snow, too."

He laughs. "That's good to know, but I meant with the girl."

I look to him a little caught off guard, but nod anyway.

I would be able to deal with Katniss. She was worth it. No matter how stubborn and unwilling she might be opening up to me or even allowing me to have the smallest part in her life, I was ready to put up the fight. She was worth it. I had already survived one Hunger Games, death. I would be able to manage dealing with Katniss Everdeen. I was ready to put up the fight.

We fall silent after that.

It's after Haymitch's fourth drink is finished he finally excuses himself, going off to him room.

As I sit there by myself, knowing I have to return to my own floor I feel something… move? And so it's then that I look over at my shoulder to see Katniss appear from behind one of the pillars.

She looks as she did the night before.

Thin.

Lost.

Bruised.

Tired.

Wounded.

Pained.

She doesn't look well, but I would not be one to tell her that. Those silver eyes would always be the world's greatest beauty in my perspective no matter what.

She looks at me, scanning me up and down, taking in my full stature.

I wonder if she recognizes me from last night or from the hovercraft or even from my own Games, but I can't say in her state of mind if she was really there, processing me.

Looking me up and down, her eyes finally reach mine. I don't look away when our eyes connect and either does she. We hold each other stares, caught in a stalemate.

Then after a long moment, she looks away, down at her feet. She glances up at me a second later as if making sure I was really there and then looks away just as quickly. She stands where she is for a moment longer too and then turns. She makes her way out of the room and down to the hall to her room.

When I hear the door to her bedroom close, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

_How long was she there?_

_Why was she there?_

_What did she hear?_

A million questions run through my head a billion miles an hour. Yet I can't answer them nor do I try. Instead, I stand up, flattening out the wrinkles in my jacket with my hand before stepping for the exit. It's then that I look back at the penthouse as if Katniss was still standing there half behind one of the pillars before stepping onto the elevator.


	5. Chapter 5

V

…

Cinna had made me into a master piece, as usual.

The dress hugged my frame. It was skin tight, making my rib cage visible, looking like the black keys on the piano, as Effie had called the piece of furniture Peeta and I found Haymitch playing one night after our arrival to the Capitol that sat in the foyer of the penthouse.

The fabric was black with red and orange mixed into it. It looked like the remnants of a fire, embers.

I was the "Girl on Fire."

Ironic.

Now, I was the "burnt out" Victor.

_Ha. _

Cinna had helped me prepare for today hours ago.

He had come into my room with Flavius, Venia, and Octavia early in the morning. They drew me a hot bath and started from beauty base zero. Flavius brushed and detangled and trimmed my hair. Venia had waxed and plucked and sculpted my eyebrows back to their original state during the opening ceremony. And Ocavia had cleaned and varnished and trimmed my fingernails, painting them a glossy black and the ring finger on each hand a shimmering orange-red.

They did not talk about me as they did before, making little side comments to one another as if I wasn't even a person or there, but a child's toy. But, this time they looked at me with sad eyes and worked silently. They worked quickly too, making sure they got everything right the first time so they didn't have to repeat any steps. And when they were done, they left as swiftly as possible, without a word.

When they were gone, Cinna came in.

He helped me into the dress, shaking his head at my frail figure as you could see my ribs and breast bone as a result of the dress's little skin coverage around my chest area. He had slipped black, tall shoes to my feet that wrapped up around my ankles like the ones Effie wore, helping me stand and grow as comfortable as I possibly could in them by the way I wobbled. He drew on dark, musky makeup around my eyes and red on my lips in an attempt to bring out the "chiseled" features of my face and the silver of my eyes. He even gave me jewelry to wear: black, silvery earing that dangled down to my collarbone with black feathers attached and a black, silvery arrow that twisted around my forearm three times.

He told me he was sorry and I knew he was.

He was sorry my sister's name was picked.

He was sorry I was forced to fight for my life

He was sorry that I had to live like this, haunted.

He was sorry that I had to do this, be the Capitol's toy.

He had allowed me to braid my hair, though, and in returned I allowed him to curl its end and the stray hairs that did not fit into the braid's twines as well as knit a few, thin strings of red and orange into the braid that played off of the dress.

My braid… it was all I had, it was all me.

_Me_… I now had mixed feelings who that was - a killer or the Seam girl I was born.

…

Raising his hands, the crowd fell silent.

Seneca Crane smiled.

He enjoyed his job too much. Creating Games and sending children to their own death, playing tricks and jokes that only ever ended badly, being the king of life and death itself. This was his job, this was his life. And to show his success and how wonderful he was at it, at the end of it all, he stood here in front of all Panem to present his prize, a victor, his gift to us all.

And the way the Capitol honors and bowed to him made my stomach turn.

The way he even acted was represented in his looks.

His beard was trimmed in the same extravagant swirls and design it was before the Games. Yet the only difference was that the hair on his head seemed to be shorter, but still brushed back in the same manner as it was before. He wore a simple, scarlet, collared shirt under a black, silk jacket and tucked into a pair of matching pants. His shoes were polished along with his nails. And his skin was clean as could be, a flawless shade of beige.

He was a model Head Gamemaker, a model master of murder.

Not one part of him looked to be out of place.

He was dressed just as perfectly as his arenas were laid out, to the _point_.

"Ladies and gentleman," he smiled with such pride and glory, "I am proud to present you with this year's, the 74th Hunger Games' Victor from District 12, Katniss Everdeen!"

The crowd erupted into another loud applauds and enthusiastic screams.

And on point, I gave the people of the Capitol and the cameras a soft smile as Effie had instructed me.

The applauds stopped though after a long period when a man dressed in a pristine, white uniform walks out. He carried a black, silvery crown, that looked to be made of the same metal of the jewelry Cinna had dressed me in, that was shaped like intertwined ivy vines out on a small pillow. The man carried the crown behind me to where President Snow stood.

When Snow took the crown in his hands there seemed to be an even more so immaculate sort of quite fall down through the crowd. Then there was a long pause. Long. And then as Snow began to move - slowly, without a doubt to build anticipation within the Capitol citizens - he placed the crown upon my head.

The crowd broke into another applauds.

I give the crowd and the cameras another smile, forced smile.

Then I turn to face Snow. He gives me a sickening smile that makes my stomach turn and I give him a "gentle" smile back in return that I force my lips to form. He leans down, kissing my one cheek and then the other. Yet after he plants the second kiss on my cheek he pauses, not pulling away from my face, for a moment to whisper into my ear:

"I hope to get together sometime soon with you, Ms. Everdeen. I hope to get some _alone_ time with you in the next couple of months to talk. We have much _business_ to talk about, much indeed."

Then, when he's done speaking, he pulls away with the same sickening smile plaster across his lips as he had given me moments ago.

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding before I turn back to face the crowd. My stomach twisted and knotted beyond belief that I'm surprised I don't keel over in pain. Yet, instead I force myself to smile again, giving the crowd and cameras a soft wave.

…

"Katniss," Caesar and his obnoxious blue hair booms, "It's _so_ great to see you."

I force smile, hearing my voice strain as I speak. It was the first time I had spoken since I cried out in agony, a pleading "_No_" through the arena when the boy from 1 pierced his knife through the back of Peeta's neck, killing him…

That was weeks ago.

"You, too, Caesar," I let out a soft laugh, acting like someone I wasn't, "I was afraid I wasn't going to see you again."

"Oh, Katniss, I must say I wasn't afraid of that at all. There was no doubt in my mind I'd see you again. I knew you'd be the one to win the Games." He smiles, laughs too, pressing his hand against the silver fabric of his suit jacket. "I mean, I'm sure the Gamemakers, _especially_ the Head Gamemaker wouldn't have awarded you with an eleven if you didn't deserve it."

He smiles again, leaning closer to me and motioning me to lean in toward him as if he had a secret to tell me and didn't want anyone in the audience to hear what he had to say.

"You never did tell me how you got that eleven."

I laugh, gently pushing against his shoulder with my hand playfully. "You know I can't tell you that, Caesar."

"I'll get you to tell me one day," he smiles, waggling his eyebrows.

The crowd roars, laughing and screaming.

I laugh, too.

_No, you won't. _

"Well, Katniss, we'll leave that for another time." He pauses. Then giving me one last teasing look before eyeing me up and down, he continues. "Now let's talking about what you're wearing. I mean I don't know if I have said it yet, but you look beautiful as always tonight. But - _Wow!_ This gown just makes you seem so much more… mature and stunning."

"Thank you, Caesar." I smile, pausing to look down at the fabric, running my hands over it. "It is beautiful isn't it? It's one of Cinna's creations of course."

"You are the Girl on Fire."

I smile politely, doing my best not to cringe at the name. "Thank you."

He smiles. "I might have to steal that man away from you."

"You'll have to kill me first," I joke.

He laughs and so does the crowd along with him.

When the later dies down, there's a pause and then he continues:

"Now about your Games, congratulations. You are the 74th Hunger Games' Victor, that's something."

I nod, not daring to verbally respond because it's a lie. It's more than _something_. It's an unforgettable, haunting, and cursed title. I deserved no congratulations, I deserved the death sentence.

"Ready to go over the highlights?"

And again all I can do is nod my head.

…

I go straight for the exit. I avoid all the cameras and any person that I feel I would kill on sight. And as I walk, I make sure to be quick in my step.

As I come up to where everyone stands, Haymitch and Effie and Cinna, the blond haired, blue eyed man with the built frame from the night before and the night before that and from the hovercraft is standing there along beside them.

And I don't know what I am thinking, I'm not, but all I know is that I take one of the tall glass bottles of alcohol from off a nearby table that is covered with a nice display of drinks and foods before grabbing the man by the collar and pulling him into the elevator with me.

Haymitch gives me a concerned look when I turn after stepping into the compartment and I just give him a simple smile in return waiting for the doors to close already.

The moment the doors do shut in front of us, I push the man up against one of the compartment's walls in anger. I take a long swig from the bottle, long, before mashing it against the wall. I then held the bottle's broken, jetted ends of shredded glass "gently" against his chest as a weapon.

"_Who the fuck are you!?_"

"Cato Battenberg," he states calmly, "72nd Hunger Games' Victor."

"What do you want with me?" I press.

He smiles, challenging me. "Why do you think I want anything with you?"

I laugh, feeling the calming burn of the alcohol enter my already loosened bloodstream and letting my grip loose of his shirt. Then backing away from him so I stood in the center of the elevator, still with the jagged bottle in hand, ready to be used if needed. I continue to laugh, reaching down with my free hand, releasing my feet of the torture chamber they were wrapped in.

"Why else would you have been there on the hovercraft?"

"My tribute could have killed you in the end."

"With my kill streak going on," I snort. "Plus his visceral level of stupidity, really?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Why would you have been there in the penthouse that night I was doped out of my mind?"

"Maybe I came to steal some of the good stuff from Haymitch," he says.

I press on though, not convinced with his answer. "What District 2 can't afford any of the "good stuff?""

He shrugs, "We can, but it's more fun to steal it from the old drunk."

"And that requires you to carry me to my room?" I say, catching him off guard.

He thinks for a moment before saying, "Let's just say I was being a gentleman."

I snort again, "Says the Brute."

He doesn't respond, surprised by my comment maybe, but who knows and so I continue:

"Then why would you be having a nice, casual conversation with Haymitch about _me_ last night?"

"Huh- " He says caught off guard before smiling, "You're good."

And on that note the elevator doors open and I step back into the penthouse, giving him a bow.

"That's why I was crowned Victor."

He snorts, cracking a smile as the elevator doors shut in front of him.


	6. Chapter 6

VI

…

"Cato."

I turn around in my seat to see where my name is being called from.

"Cato!"

I look around the room more closely this time as if I missed something. Yet, when I still don't see anyone, I stand up to get a better look as if there was a possibility that I was having a really, _really_ off day.

"_Cato!_" Brutus's voice booms again, this time filled in such anger and rage that he makes clear where he is in the apartment.

So as I make my way from my spot in front of the television in the living room I turn to face him as he marches down the hall toward me. His tall board frame of nothing more than pure muscle and his head, shiny as could be, coming right to me, veins bulging out with frenzy.

"What are you doing!?" He rages.

I look to him confused which only seems to anger him even more so.

"What's _wrong_ with you boy!?"

He stares at me, eyes filled with frenzy and rage. And I look to him confused, not knowing what is going on, not knowing what the cause of his anger was. Even when I quickly think back over the past few days, nothing comes to mind. Enobaria seems just as lost as I am when I glance over at her, who had just come running into the room, in the moment for some sort of help. She doesn't look to know what Brutus is talking about either which surprises me as much as it does to her it appears as Brutus and her usually seem to share one mind.

Brutus looks to her as if she is going to step into the conversation and scold me, too.

Yet, she doesn't.

"If no one else is going to say it, than I will," he roars, steaming. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Cato!?

District 12, of all districts, Districts 12! _12!_ Hanging around in public and up in the penthouse with that drunk and the scum of a victor, _that dirt_. Are you even thinking!? Do you understand what you're doing!? _Do you!?_

You are an embarrassment, an _embarrassment_! Playing house with those rats as if it's some sort of hilarious joke or prank you're playing. You're a shame to your district, my district_, our district_!

What, boy! What do you think you're doing!? Who do you think you are, the president, some almighty power!?"

I feel my chest contract as I take in a deep breath. In that moment I was more than ready to give Brutus, the man who had mentored me for seventeen years of my life, a piece of my mind or my fist… whichever one would come more easily. Yet what comes first, word or fist, is only dismissed to have Enobaria cut me off.

"Brutus," she says as calmly and politely as possible. She was acting motherly, like Effie Trinket, a woman with manners instead of a woman with razor sharp teeth ready to take a _nip_ at someone's neck. "Don't you see what's going on here?"

Brutus looks at her, snapping: "What, Enobaria, what's happening? _Please_, inform me?"

"Our boy is growing up, Brutus."

Brutus snort, unconvinced.

_Growing up_, I think. _What's that supposed to mean? I've grown up long ago_.

"I can't say I'm not surprised either, but I can't complain either," she continues, "His choice isn't that bad off, she's filled with raw _talent_ and seems to have very much held the attention of the Capitol far longer than the drunk had when he was crowned _or_ even when we were crowned."

"What are you talking about, Enobaria?" Spens says, coming up behind her, joining the conversation.

"Cato here is coming out of his solemn state in the bachelor life he has created over the last two years, it appears, to take a _dip._"

_No. No. No. Did she just - How dare she - She just implies - How dare she think I'd treat Katniss in such a way. No. No. No. _

Brutus cracks a smile this time, letting out a snort in the process, more approving of Enobaria this time.

Spens laughs too, nudging Enobaria with his elbow.

"Well, I can't say I counteract the boy's choice in play toys. That girl's long locks and ghostly eyes seem to be making every man in the Capitol weak in the knees."

I feel my fist tighten and my stature grows tall as rage builds within me, ready to snap.

Enobaria smiles. "He's not doing anything wrong, Brutus. He's not rebelling against the Capitol or starting any kind of havoc that'd caused us any troubles. He's just being a boy. He's exploring the mines of District 12."`

Brutus smiles in approval and the others do, too.

_Sons of bitches. _

About to burst, I need to keep calm so else things wouldn't end well. It's then that my eyes fall cross the room to the elevator. Escape. And so I make my way to the elevator. Yet, before the doors can open for me, I hear Brutus's voice stop me in my tracks.

"Boy."

I freeze and slowly turn to face him.

"Where you going?"

"Going for a walk," I say through my teeth, keeping _calm_.

He raises his eyebrows as Spens does, "The train in leaving within the hour, Cato. You know that, right?"

"And it'll be leaving without me." I grit.

"_What!?_" Enobaria just about shirks, having another Effie moment, caught off guard, "What do you mean it'll be leaving without you!?"

"I'm going to be staying in the Capitol for a while."

"You hate it here," Brutus laughs. "The sparkly glitter and the tainted skin and the high pitched voices, everything Capitol you hate. You say it every year how much you despise this place, I don't see what changed."

"Well," I say gritting my teeth so hard that there was without no doubt that everyone in the room could hear them grinding and a surprise I don't break a tooth or two. "Something else… seems to have triumph over that."

"And what's that," he presses, still smiling as if he was the one in charge of these games.

"You and my inability to deal with your shit."

Then like that, without any hesitation I took one step back causing the elevator doors to open. Backing up into the elevator, I gave Brutus a flashy smiling, showing off my sparkly whites as I did whenever the cameras were around. And then on cue, the elevator doors closed in front of me.

From there, the way for me to go and the only way I found myself heading was up.

…

Katniss Everdeen.

She was something.

She was the reason for my blow out with Brutus and the rest of them.

She was a good reason.

She was worth it.

…

As stubborn and shy and strong and senseless and strange as she was… normally, she was something entirely else during her crowning ceremony and interview. She was neither the girl I had expected her to be nor the girl I had seen her to be during her crowning ceremony and interview. She was something else, _then_. So when the elevator doors opened up to the penthouse I wasn't surprise to see that the atmosphere had shifted from the laidback stratosphere it was the day before to the chill it was today.

There was a why, a reason.

Of course there was a reason for the shift, a legitimate reason that Haymitch was more than cheeky to tell me about.

Drugs.

Aurelius had given her a dose, fairly large enough amount, of nitro-something-something.

Aurelius had given her some sort of relaxant right before the crowning, telling her it was a needed vaccine that he had forgotten to give her the day before and had to be given then or else it would work properly.

So when I returned to the penthouse the following day, today I was sad to see the drugs had worn off, but at the same time I was happy to see her, herself.

I liked the Katniss Everdeen I had come to know… from a distance.

I liked the Katniss I had seen that was at peace with a bow and arrow, in those trees.

I preferred the real Katniss over the "Girl on Fire," the Capitol's Katniss, the toy they made her out to be.

She was on the couch when I came in. She had her knees pulled to her chest, drawing her body as closely together as it would possibly allow her to be. She was dressed in tight black pants and an oversized gray shirt that went down well past her waist and went as far down along her arms to cover her hands. She wore boots like the ones she had on in the arena and her hair in its normal braid.

She looked just as lost and as fragile as she did when she stepped onto the hovercraft.

She wasn't right, together.

She was broken.

"Cato," I hear Effie's voice come from behind me, pulling my attention away from Katniss. "What are you still doing here? Your train home is leaving soon; you'll miss it if you don't hurry."

"I'm staying in the Capitol for a bit, actually," I inform her, turning and giving her a smile.

"Oh, that's wonderful," she beams, bouncing up and down like a child in her deathly looking orange heels. "We're going to be staying here, in the Capitol too for a little bit longer as well. Some things have…"

She glances down at Katniss, a sad look in her eyes.

"Some things have come up that need to be attended to. _But…_" she drags out with suspense as if she was having an epiphany. "Oh, you must spend one of your days with Katniss before you go. You could show her around the city, immerse her in the all the glories our great Capitol has to offer. You could take a car, go out for lunch or dinner, go shopping… You must, won't you?"

"I'd be glad to." I tell her with a smile.

_No, you wouldn't, you hate the Capitol, right after Brutus_. My mind tells me. _You'll just do anything that involves Katniss_.

"Wonderful," she perks, clapping her hands together and bouncing in her heels again. "Oh, how wonderful. Oh, yes. It'll be perfect, joyous. I'll make plans for you two. Arrange an entire schedule. I'll make a reservation at one of the Capitol's top restaurants to be sure they know you'll be coming. Oh, it'll be glorious, just wonderful!"

_Mh hmm. Just wonderful. _

She claps again before scurrying away down the hall, no doubt going to make plans and arrangements for Katniss and mine to-be day out in the city.

And I turn my attention back to Katniss and this time find she's looking at me.

"Feeling okay?" I ask as I come further into the room and sit down across from her on the couch.

She doesn't respond, but looks to me with those silvery, gray eyes.

_No._

"Are you mad at Aureilu?"

She doesn't respond again, looks to me with those silvery, gray eyes.

_No, not really._

I nod. "He's a good guy, means well."

She still doesn't respond, but continues to look me with those silvery, gray eyes.

_I suppose. _

"Going to kill Haymitch in his sleep?" I ask with a semi smile pulling at my lips.

She doesn't respond. Yet she looks straight at me with those silvery, gray eyes and her brow scrunching at the top of her nose.

_Yes, most likely. _

"Sorry about Effie." I apologize, knowing that she as much as I was, wasn't excited _at all_ to go out into the city for a day and be the Capitol's entertainment.

Again, she doesn't respond, but looks to me with those silvery, gray eyes. Yet, this time, her brow unfurrows the slightest bit, till filled with anger.

She looks to me, understanding.

We understand.

And that was it. From there on we sat in silence, embracing it.

…

Note:

Spens is just another victor from District 2 that I just added.

Sorry if it threw anyone off.


	7. Chapter 7

VII

…

I didn't say I word. I was silent, speechless, mute. I was too mad to speak nor did I have anything to say, not a word… nice that was, if there was anything to be said which there wasn't, but at the same time if there was...

I - I - I -

_Who the hell did Haymitch think he was? Who, beside my mentor and "guardian" was he? Really, who the hell did he think he was? Some almighty power? The president?_

First doping me up with alcohol to create a cover that would shelter us from the wrath of Snow and then having Aurelius drug me with some relaxants so I would act exactly as the Capitol would like me to, so I would be their puppet.

I mean, what the - what the _hell_!?

He had no right to do that to me.

_No right._

He - he - he -

With the drugs and the alcohol I wasn't - the same.

I wasn't me and the thing was I didn't want to be me. I didn't want to be broken and torn, everything and anything I felt. I didn't what it, none of it. I wanted to be someone entirely else. I didn't want to be me. Yet at the same time I couldn't put that horror, the disaster I had become on anyone else. I couldn't even do that to someone else in theory.

That's why I was mad at Haymitch - he given me exactly what I wanted and at the same time exactly what I didn't.

I was doing pretty well too… as well as I could be. I was avoiding and keeping to myself after Effie left loose that Haymitch had me drugged instead of losing it. I was calm. But then he came…

Cato Battenberg.

The 72nd Victor of the Hunger Games.

The Brute from 2.

Mister Muscle, Buff, & Stuff.

First, he was just in the room with me. Then he was talking to me, acting concern. Next he was sitting down right beside me, as if it was okay.

I couldn't - I couldn't deal with it. It was as if there was some sort of tension between us. But it was a good yet unwanting, unwelcoming sort of attention between us. I don't know what it was, but I did know that I didn't like it. I wouldn't let myself like it either.

Plus, I didn't, don't know if it was just me though that felt it or if he felt it too.

Was it communal? private? imagine? shared? individual? hallucinated?

It was sort of - tautness? fascination? connection? - something that pulled at… something I didn't want it to. It brought upon some foreign familiarity of a feeling that sent a chill down my spine.

To add to it, it was there all the time. _All the time_.

The day before, even in my hallucinated and drugged state I felt it.

And today… we were seated there for a while too, a long while.

We sat there till it dark and till it was well after dark. Lunch passed and dinner and dessert and even Haymitch's late night drink. It wasn't till Cato left, Haymitch had taken a bottle to bed, and Effie had given up that I moved.

I tried to go to sleep, I did, but it was no use. I couldn't bare with them, the nightmares. And so some point well past midnight, but not that early in the morning I moved. I felt my feet carrying me into the elevator, through the halls, and into the training center.

It was like before, but different at the same time… like everything else.

Different yet familiar.

It was the same, just different in the way I viewed the room now.

The trainers weren't there watching and guiding and correcting at their designated stations. The Peacekeepers weren't there watching and protecting and guarding. The Gamemakers and the Head Gamemaker weren't watching down on every move, judging and laughing and monitoring. And there weren't twenty-four of us; there were twenty-three less of us…

I was the only one now.

_Katniss Everdeen._

_District 12. _

_Female._

_Victor. _

Walking through the center, I take it all in…

How everything was in order to the point. How now as I looked at the room, I realized it was arranged like the Cornucopia, the most important items in the center and the basics on the outskirts. How there was not one speck of dust anywhere, anywhere. How everything looked less lethal now on a second glanced compared to how it all was in the arena. How the lights flicker off the metallic of the weapons, making them shine.

It was all so right and all so wrong.

As I walk through the center, I take it all in, walking through each station, remembering.

The weights - where Thresh displayed his physical strengths and vigor

The bars - where the boy from 7, Firr, lost his grip before hr could reach the second bar

The platform - where Glimmer for the most part just stood and looked pretty

The camouflage - where Peeta blended himself perfectly in with the tree's bark

The ropes - where Rue hid high up in the mesh from Ramsey with his knife in hand

The gauntlet - where the boy from 4, Cap, struggled to act fast on his feet were to go

The spears - where Ramsey's shots were always dead on, right to the heart

The knots - where the girl from 3, Inala, tied and untied the ropes flawlessly

The knives - where Clove pierced every targets' heart with a swift flick of the wrist

The vegetation - where Foxface matched every flower and bush with its better half

The shelter - where the girl from 8, Orchid, had built a fire with a single twig

The bow and arrow - where I shot straight at the apple in the pigs' mouth… and sentenced myself

It was all there.

_Everything_.

Everything I didn't want to remember, happy or sad or down right horrible, was right there in front of me in this room. This place was like the back of my mind, filled with dust covered memories. Everything building up to that day, the day I entered the arena took place in this room for the most part: my training, my judgment, my score took place here. This room held power, no matter how great I thought its power to be once, it was something greater than my mind could even imagine. Everything in a way was decided in this room, life and death. This place held the unwanted answers to one's fate, it was the Reaping's bowl, would you live or would you die.

I take in everything.

_Everything_.

And when I come to it, I find myself with the bow in hand and arrow notched.

And when I come to realize the human outline in front of I feel something snap.

…

He came.

Of course he fucking came, of course.

I don't know why it didn't cross my mind that he would show up.

He always seemed to be there when I didn't want him to be, but when I needed someone to be.

He came in silently, but I knew he was there. My mind worked that way, my hunter instincts just kicked in liked they always did. I knew the moment he stepped foot through the entrance it was even him, even in the numbing silence.

He came in quietly. He moved fast and agilely. He took the bow from my grasp and pried the arrow from my fingers. He detached them from one another and then pushed them far away from me as possible. He rolled me over, brushing the hair from my eyes. He grasped my shaking hands in one of his and used the other to wipe away the few remaining tears on my cheeks. He gave me a sad looked that I knew he was trying to mask, but I could see it in his eyes. He then scooped his arms underneath me and picked me up into the air. He cradled me close to his chest and took me out of the training center. He took me through the halls and up the elevator and back to the penthouse.

He came and took me away from it all and I allowed it.

I cried and he let me.

…

I didn't say I word. I was silent, speechless, wordless, mute. I was too embarrassed to speak nor did I have anything to say, not a word… nice that was, if there was anything to be said which there wasn't, but that the same time if there was...

I - I - I -

I don't know. I just - It was a first, a - thee first time I couldn't reason with the world. I couldn't explain it.

It just was.

_He _just was.

He was still there when I came around to it.

We were in the penthouse. We were in my room to be exact, my bedroom. We were on my bed, on top of the covers, not underneath. He was propped up against the headboard in a not so seemingly comfortable position. I was lying on top of him. He was still holding me close to his chest as he did when he carried me from the training center. I was curled into myself. He had a blanket wrapped around me, keeping me warm.

I was a mess.

My hair felt tangled. My forehead felt hot. My eyes felt red. My cheeks felt hallow. My ear felts shot. My nose felt stuffed. My lips felt chapped. My tongue felt numb. My throat felt dry. My joints felt achy. My skin felt slick. My frame felt thin.

I felt broken.

Taking in a breath, I looked up at him. And he looked down at me as he did before, back in the training center. The sad look that I knew he was trying to mask still remained, but I could see it in his eyes, his pure blue eyes.

But when he looked at me this time it seemed change.

Not only was it sad, there was still sadness in his eyes, but there was more…

Sympathy.

Appreciation.

Understanding.

He looked to me as if he knew exactly what I was going through, as if he had experienced what I had before. And inside, somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought maybe he did. There was the chance. We were similar in ways… He had his Games and I had mine. He had been played like just I had. He had killed as I had. He had been, was one of the Capitol's attention worthy personnel like I was. He was a Victor like me.

We were alike, but…

I knew were different, there was no doubt in my mind that we weren't.

Yet our differences didn't matter right then and there. In that moment, I didn't care how different we were. I only cared that we shared, might as well share many similarities.

And so like the day before we sat there in silence, for a long time.

There was the tension between us as the day before, too.

But I didn't care. I couldn't afford to care in the moment. None of that mattered: how different we were, how much he bothered me, how much emotions killed me to have, how much I felt weak. No matter how great my dislike for the tension between us or fear inside of me of our differences or the promiscuity of our uneasy similarities, I needed this.

_I needed_.

I needed the closeness.

I need the feeling.

I needed the warmth.

I needed the embracement.

I needed Cato.

And it scared me. The feeling scared me. The feeling of the need, the want like the tension, tautness from the days before between us caused a sort of fear begin to build within me… again.

I didn't need, I didn't rely on others, I didn't live without regulations.

I didn't like it, but at the same time I _needed_ this.

So I allowed it.

I allowed myself to stay curled into him.

I allowed myself to cry, be weak in front of him.

I allowed him to comfort me, rubbing circle on my back.

I allowed myself not to be myself, to give in.

I allowed myself to be human, normal.

_I allowed it._


	8. Chapter 8

VIII

…

Effie had called me yesterday afternoon to inform she had completed her plans for Katniss's and mine day out in the city.

She apologized to me for the late notice and rush scheduling, but the only day she could afford for Katniss and I to spend an entire day together would be tomorrow, today. I told her it was nothing to worry about and that I was glad to be able to take Katniss out. She was no less smiling cheekily at my response before going head first, telling me what she had planned for us with great enthusiasm. I felt as if it was Reaping day all over again. And before she said her goodbyes, she told me to be expecting Portia early in the morning tomorrow, today.

I was ready, no less. I was probably too ready. I was up like five, my workout done by six, and presentable by six-thirty. Five was early for me. Eight when Portia came to my room was another sort of early.

She didn't come alone though, but with an outfit for me, the simplest outfit I had seen in years:

A maroon shirt that she allowed me to roll up to my elbows.

A pair of black pants that were torn in numerous places.

A pair of black boots like the ones the Peacekeepers wore.

Simple.

Comfortable.

Liked.

It was nothing like what my stylist had ever made me wear. It wasn't like the gold plated armor or the silver, actual silver, threaded suit or the outrageous outfit with the neon white pants.

And then when I saw what Cinna had dressed Katniss in, quite similar and familiar to mine, my breath was taken away:

A pair of black boots like the ones the Peacekeepers wore and the ones I wore.

A pair of maroon stockings - I think that's what Effie called them, she was _so_ happy to see Katniss so "fashionable" that she talked about every aspect of her outfit way too fast for me to catch every word - that like my pants were torn in a number of places.

A short, black skirt that looked to be intentionally creased at parts.

A tight, black corset that was more concealing and preservative than most of the women in the Capitol wore.

And the arrow armband she had worn before, little to no makeup on, and her dark, waves cascading down her back.

She was gorgeous.

Cinna always seemed to know how to make she glow brighter than she already did on her own.

She was beautiful.

…

The moment we stepped out of the car, we were the eye of attention. And as we walked down the Capitol streets, all eyes were on us. Lights flashing at every corner and cameras rolling on a never ending loop, too.

I could just see the morning's headlines now-

_Beauty & Beast_

_Retirement from the Bachelor Life_

_Kindling New Fames _

_Another Star-Crossed Couple_

_Battenberg's New Prey_

_The Cause of Peeta's Broken Heart _

_Huntress on the Prowl _

Hell, maybe if they were obsessed enough - which the odds were definitely in favor of - they'd even print a special edition this evening about us. _A Afternoon With The Victors_ it'd read in big bold, catchy letters. It'd include our every breath, be pages and pages long. There'd be pictures and overly descriptive reports of our activities. There'd be a list of where we went and what we bought or ate or touched or even looked at.

Without a doubt we'd be all over the television before we even got back to the tribute building, they were probably broadcasting something this very moment, narrating our every move.

The evening news would just be pictures and clips and chatter about us. Snow could set fire to the Capitol and the people probably wouldn't even care no less realize. Katniss and I could be killed and the Capitol wouldn't even care no less realize, just be consumed by the idea that we were "together" for the afternoon. Their children could be taken right before them, in front of their own eyes and they wouldn't even care no less realize.

Caesar Flickerman had his topic of talk for the week and Claudius Templesmith would be right there beside him on the stage playing off his every word, adding little unwanted side comments that the people thrived off of. That show with the ladies in the red hats, Under the Brim?, would gossip till one of them choked on their one words.

By the time we would get back to the tribute building, Effie would have hundreds of interviews and photo shoots and writers waiting to see if we'd be willing to give up the next - rest of our lives to indulge them.

The Capitol was going to have a field day.

…

Stepping out from the extravagant restaurant Effie had made a reservation at, Katniss stumbles. Quickly, I step forward, grabbing her by her forearm and pulling into my side. She bashes against me, still stumbling as her small frame seemed to shake and rattle from the impact. It takes a moment and a strong drip on her shoulder before she levels out.

"You okay," I ask softly, arm around her shoulder in case she were to stumble again.

She nods, looking down at the ground.

She wasn't okay. She could barely hold herself up.

She was healing. Aurelius had told me himself yesterday that in a few more days all her wounds would be healed. He told me the supplement injections and vaccines were working well. He told me in no time her body would be restored. The bruises would be gone. The scrap along her hairline would peel away. The pinky on her left hand would be flexible again. The cracked ribs would be officially mended. The slash down her side would be completely closed.

The only thing that wasn't getting fixed was her malnutrition.

That was one thing Aurelius shots couldn't help. And he did give her vitamin and mineral shots, weight supplements injections, and more. Yet none of them were really working.

They wouldn't work, properly, without a little help from her. To be sure the vitamin and mineral shots, weight supplements injections, and more actually worked to their full capability, Katniss had to actually consume some nutrient, eat some food. And that was exactly what she wasn't doing.

She drank. She kept herself well hydrated. Water seemed to be all she desired, but her eating habits… they were something else. She ate about a grain of rice a day, less than that most the time. Just then in the restaurant she only pushed the vegetables around in her salad and had only a few minuscule scoopfuls of her soup. She had opted out of dessert, telling our waiter that she was well too full to eat another morsel.

She was healing, but at the same time she was decaying.

And it was killing me to see her unable to hold herself up, even if it meant I was the one supporting her.

…

Turning a corner, I spot a toy store in the corner of my eye and a chocolate shop not too far from it.

I give her shoulder a soft squeeze, "You want to get something for your sister, bring her home a gift?"

And for the first time she looks to me and gives me a smile, a genuine smile. Not the artificially, drugged endorsed smiles and laughs she gave Caesar and the cameras days ago, this was the real Katniss Everdeen giving me a real smile.

"Yeah," she smiles, "That'd be nice."

There so, together we walk to the store.

The owner's eyes seem to glow when we walk in astonished and shocked to see two Victors striding around the store.

We walk around once, Katniss staying clear of the toy swords and Games memorabilia that the Capitol children looked at with desire this time of year. The fake axes and play bow and arrow would be a delight for a Capitol child to hold in their hands, but in Katniss's eyes they're pure evil. And so when she veered away from them, I was more than willingly to allow her.

Instead, she leans to the part of the store with the toy animals. She smiles at them, the simple genuine smile she had given me when I mentioned her sister. She touches them too, feeling each animals' soft cloth and texture. The store owner no doubt is capturing these moment as Katniss traces his merchandise in hope to be able to sell it for a higher price with proof the infamous, Katniss Everdeen laid a finger on it.

It's when her hand falls on the small, yellow duckling she stops. She looks at it and smiles, embracing the moment as if she had just achieved the greatest task life had to offer. Then taking the duck in hand, she turned to me.

"Good to go?"

She smiles, nodding her head.

She has a fit with the owner, not an agreement, just a small dispute over price. The owner of course, didn't want her to pay. Making a Victor pay for anything was like a crime, but Katniss thought otherwise. When even I, a past Victor, someone neither the press nor the owner would care or put up as much of a fight if I want to pay for something as small as a toy duck, offered to pay, Katniss gave me the death glare.

This was her fight.

And nevertheless, with her amount of stubbornness, she got the owner give in and allowed her to pay.

"I can take care of myself," she tells me as we make our way from the store.

I smile. "There's no doubt in my mind that you can, but that man looked like he needed to regroup."

She falls silent, looking down at her shoes.

"It's just… I don't do well with charity. Even if over a piece of bread, I just don't take it well."

"Oh, well…" I give her another smile, "why don't we go get some chocolate, I'm sure your sister would love some. _And _I won't even give the owner a chance to catch his breath so he could possibly have a chance with as you fight him into letting you pay."

…

Even though I wasn't one for neither shopping nor a day out in the Capitol, I could say the day was a success. We survived, no one died or was hurt and we did come back with gifts.

_Plus…_

Effie was enthused.

We were proper Victors, we were dressed suitably and to match, we stood tall with our chins up, we used manners just like Effie had told us to do, and we didn't embarrass our districts anyway at all. We behaved perfectly and caused no problems… expect for Katniss's little disagreements with the number of shop owners who refused to allow her to pay, but Effie didn't need to know of those. We did not hide from the press and the cameras either which Effie knew quite well from the footage that had been broadcasted and of course by the number of interviews I had expected her to receive.

And to top it all off, Katniss was happy.

After stopping at the toy store she seemed to lighten up. She smiled a few more times and would talk every now and then.

Her sister, Primrose or Prim, became the topic of choice.

It was after the toy duck that she began to shop. Not looking at the merchandise and nodding her had as we had done for a while, but literal shopping, picking an item or two to purchase at particular stores we visited. Her eyes would fall on something and she'd smile. She'd say that Prim would see this and could imagine so-and-so using it or she's say Prim would spot this and consider that so-and-so needed it.

I wasn't a shopper and neither was she really, but that was okay.

And so we ended up with:

A duck for Prim

A box of pink candies for a girl named - Posy?

A chess set for Vick

A basket of yarns and fabrics for Hazel

A wristwatch for Riley?

A pair of winter boots for Gale

A necklace for Effie

And a large bottle of white liquor for Haymitch

It was a successful day for Katniss Everdeen, smiles and talking and shopping.

And it was a surprisingly satisfactory day… because Katniss Everdeen was there.


	9. Chapter 9

IX

…

Like getting there, I didn't really remember getting back. The return, it was - it was all fragmented and blurred as if there were pieces of the puzzle missing or spots covering my vision. It was like when I had the bottle of whiskey running through my veins: jumbled, blurred, and upside-down. It was all so right and all so wrong.

It just was.

Prim's name was reaped, I volunteered, there was a loud pounding sound in my chest, goodbyes were said and promises made, I boarded the train, Haymitch's finger was nearly taken off with a butter knife, and then we were pulling into the Capitol station.

It just was.

Returning was like the same as leaving.

It just was.

Effie called for us to leave, I nodded, there were loud cheers coming from all around, goodbyes were said and promises were made, I boarded the train, Haymitch nearly took his finger off in the train door, and then we were crossing into 12.

It just was.

It was just like I knew.

I knew. I knew before Effie came bouncing into the cart with such enthusiasm I nearly forgot this was the first time she, like Haymitch, had brought a tribute home. I just knew we were there. Maybe it was that burning smell of coal or the reflection of the forest pines in the windows. Maybe it was that gut feeling of home or the fact that Haymitch was wearing shoes for once. Maybe it was the slightly clouded skies or the lack of security on the outskirts. I don't know what it was that made it all tick, click together to create the big picture, but it just did. I just knew.

I stood from my seat in the dinning cart the moment we passed over the border of the district. I just saw a glance, a glimmer and I knew. I knew. I knew the woods surrounding the district like the back of my hand. Where the district began and where it cut off was engraved in my mind like needed information.

I felt myself swallow a breath in that very moment, but no less than a moment later was I breathing out to breathe a breath of coal dust in.

Then I approached the window with such caution that it was as if I was sneaking up on prey. My one arm was out in front of me while the over hovered by my side and my feet tip-toed in their boots. And then coming to terms that this was it, this was 12 I let down my guard. My hands grasped at the windowsill and I watched as the trees flew by in a blur. Soon they faded away and we were pulling into the station.

The train came to a graceful halt even though I stumbled forward.

District 12.

Home.

I could barely smile with the immense amount of satisfaction of being back built inside me. Fulfilling my promise to Prim to try my best to return for the first time seemed like a good idea. It all came crashing, the memories and emotions before quickly snapping out of my stationary phase, my body kicking into motion. I raced through the train. I went from cart to cart, down to the next and the one that follows that and the one after that and the next one, letting my legs carry me to the carter where we boarded.

And so consumed with getting out of the damn train, stepping foot on the coal dusted ground, hugging Prim again, breathing in the smell of the fresh pine, and seeing Gale's brash smile again I don't realize Haymitch standing in front of me till I already mash against him.

I stumble back, but he thankfully catches me by the arm and stands me up steady.

"You ready for this, sweetheart," he ask searching my eyes.

I nod my head, unable to form a word.

"Nothing's the same," he tells me, staring me in the eye as if it made any difference, "Remember that."

I nod.

Then doing the same he placed his hand on my back between my shoulder blades and slowly lead me through the carts till we reached Effie.

She greeted us with a blissful expression and with as much enthusiasm as she had just moments before. A single tear falls down her cheek when she spots me, but I knew it was okay, it a tear of happiness and pride - pride not only in herself for achieving the greatest struggle a district escort has of bring a child home, but also proud that I was coming home alive. She smiled, showing her whiten bleached teeth, as her hands straighten the collared shirt over the surprisingly comfortable, tight pants she had picked out for me this morning to wear.

"I'm proud of you, Katniss," she smiled, another tear sneaking out from the corner of her eye. "So proud."

"Ah," I say caught off guard, sputtering to think of what to say, "Th - thank you."

She smiles again and Haymitch gives me a nod and then -

Then the Peacekeepers open the doors and I step out into the light, the coal dust, and the pine smell that could only be District 12.

…

They were all there.

_Everyone_.

I had never realized there were so many people that lived in District 12. Even during the Reaping and the Victor Tour not everyone came out. We weren't forced to like the Capitol made clear every year we just be in attendance. We were the pity district, we had the pity Peacekeepers. And so the Peacekeepers weren't the best and they weren't the most authoritarian. They were laid back for the most part, trusting and comfortable around us. They allowed most of the elders and the younger children to watch from their homes.

But there were so many people. It was as if they had imported people from other districts to compensate. And if not that, they had to had cloned or mass produce the population for it to grow the large. Everyone, everyone was there in the square.

So many faces…

Darius

Mayor Undersee

Thom

Ripper

Greasy Sae

Leevy

Rooba

Mrs. Undersee

Madge

Goat Man

Delly

Then - and then there were the Mellarks, one by one, they stood near the back corner of the crowd. Mr. Mellark stood out the most, to me of all of them. He was, would have been what Peeta would have looked like when, if he would have ever entered his late forties, early fifties. Not only did his appearance make my stomach twist, but the small smile he gave me. The oldest Mellark son, Graham, stood beside his father along with his newly wedded wife, Melody Foster. The middle son, Rye, stood beside Melody with an unreadable expression that made my stomach twist even more. And there was no one because Rye, there was no Mrs. Mellark.

After Rye, there were just more faces, faces of other District 12 citizens I didn't recognize or just over looked.

At some point my eyes landed on Gale.

He gave me a wretched smile.

…

"Here," Effie instructs me in quote a dramatic tone, coming to a halt in front of the ivy covered iron and brick entrance of Victor's Village, "is your new home."

I give her a small smile of acknowledgment.

She claps her hands, bouncing up and down with enthusiasm again all while Haymitch just shakes his head, rolling his eyes from behind her.

"Well, come on," she says walking through the entrance into the small community of outlandish houses, "I'll show you your house."

And so I followed her through the gateway, Haymitch right beside me.

Victor's Village was nice to say the least.

After walking through the gate, you followed along a white, glossy stone path that went straight through the community, crafted around the three layered fountain that stood at the first set of houses and like the pathway was made of the same white, glossy stone. The pathway branched off of at each home leading straight up to the mansion's front steps. And like the pathway and fountain each home was made of the white, glossy stone that I believe Effie now said was called marble.

However the white, glossy color of the stone was not the only pigment that consumed Victor's Village. There was the forest, green ivy that crawled along the gate and at parts around the footpath to the base of the fountain and even clung to some of the structures of the mansions. And where there wasn't marble there was an off shade of grass, the shade that made it look like it hadn't been watered in a week's time. The grass covered the non-stoned ground and grew between the cracks in the path. There were bushes and all different sorts of plants outside the mansion, sprouting flowers and blossoms of yellow and red and orange.

Yet like how each marble pathway stone was cut in a different shape, each marble home - mansion had its own design. There was one with wooden windows and another with "cobalt," in Effie's words, railings and window grids. One mansion had a red door while another look to have its door made of what looked to be pure silver. There was a house with an odd sort of rooftop that looked to swoop up and down like the bark of a tree while another one of the homes had a "rustic, tungsten slated roof," in Effie's terms, but to me it just looked to be layers of thin rock. And there were other, many others. There were even more aspects to the homes I had mentioned that I just didn't have enough time to describe or didn't think there was such expressions to describe.

Effie led us to the home beside the one with the wooden windows.

It was nice and there was nothing bad that could be said about the home. It was two stories made of complete marble. It seemed purer than the other homes, as if someone had been sure to whiten the already white stones. However, the thing that set this home different from the others was not just the black wooden door, but the "black titanium." By Effie, black titanium was some priceless metal that in the Capitol was shaped into beautiful jewelry, like the arrow wraparound for my bicep Cinna had given me. And to have black titanium throughout my home: the railing, the doorknob, the window frames, the furniture, the silverware, and just about everything else was something to _kill _for.

The inside of the home was just as beautiful as the outside with dark, wooden flooring and simple decorations that made me think of Cinna and his clothing designs. There, on the first floor was: a small foyer, a kitchen, dining room, sitting area, and office I would never use nor anyone I knew would or could use. On the second floor there was: three bedroom, two baths, and a balcony that overlooked the forest out back.

It was all more than enough, it was too much. The house in general had to be ten times the size of our home in the Seam. It had to be worth a price unknown yet of greatest compare to our home in the Seam that was worth nothing more than a handful of coins, maybe less.

It was all so much and there was just me. Just one person. Just me.

And that when it struck me - Prim.

_Where was she?_

Down the stairs as if he knew I was in need of answers, Gale stood beside Haymitch in the foyer.

He looked at me with a sad expression that reminded me of the smile he had given me earlier in the square. It was the same expression his face portrayed when he was just about to kill his prey. Sorrow, compassion, regret. Haymitch looked at me in the same way, maybe a little less sad as he was never one to express much emotion, but his eyes still held unwanted dismay. Then it happened.

Gale opened his mouth and words began to spew out. So many words. So many words with meanings. So many words with so much depth. And it wasn't till midway through his spiel that it all seemed that all those words seemed to piece themselves together in my mind and click, burying me deep in their meaning.

My mind began to fight the information as my chest seemed to tear into two. My entire body seemed to fight itself and at the same time fight Gale's words.

I was unaccepting.

I was redundant.

And at some point I crumbled, completely fell apart. Then I remember is the blackness but…

There was no doubt in my mind that for some foreign reason, I allowed his name to slip from my lips in a desperate plead for help.

_Cato_.


	10. Chapter 10

X

…

She was laid out on the couch when I came barging in to the house. A brown blanket covered her small frame that didn't even look to lie across half the couch. The blanket was wrapped around her and another blanket was rolled up under her head acting like a pillow. She looked beat, overly tired, and stressed beyond belief.

Approaching her small figure, I nearly make it a foot from her before a hand grasp my shoulder pulling me back.

"That was fast, boy." Haymitch grunts as he pulls me into the kitchen on the home.

I nod, not sharing any details on the subject. He didn't need to know that the moment the message came through I was already packing my things. His call was just another reason for me to get the hell out of the Capitol. I hated the Capitol and all its fabrication. It held no interest to me, no one I cared for was there… presently. And Katniss was in need of help in 12 - I had every reason to get the hell out as fast as I could. And so I phoned in a few favors, jumped on the first hovercraft they had available, and in less than six hours' time I was being dropped off in a field on the outskirts of town.

He nods. "Well, good you're here."

"_What's wrong?_" I ask him for the first time as I had asked myself after he abruptly ended our call.

"Somethin' happened."

I stand there and wait for him to continue and spread some light on the subject, but he doesn't. Instead he stops there as if that was the end of the discussion.

"What do you mean something happened, Mitch" I press.

"The girl's got a sister -"

"Prim," I interject, catching him by surprise, "the one she volunteered for."

"Mh hmm," he grunts continuing, "and well, 12's not like 2, boy. We live in a completely different world than you do. Remember that, you've seen this place before on your Victor Tour, there's no doubt in my mind that you know it.

These people live the worse lives possible: hunger, poverty, death. And to say, for the most part things are laid back here as a result. If ya think of it there's no reason to make any worse than it is, that's why it's called hell cause its… _unpleasant_. So the Peacekeepers aren't as strict as they should be and people do their best to help one another out.

Katniss's father was… one of those people in the district that took advantage of the little freedom we're given and not in a destructive way. He just pushed the furthest he could with the Peacekeepers and the rules, sneaking out of the district a few times a week to go hunting."

"Hunting?" I ask and at the same time state. "That's why she was so good with the bow and arrow in the arena?"

"Her father taught her how to shoot from what I understand," he nods.

I nod, waiting for him to continue.

"Well, she didn't go out on her own. The Hawthorne kid, ah - Gale, would go out with her, they were close. The two families could be mistaken as relatives not just for their looks, but how they interact with one another. And so of course when Katniss volunteered, he promised to watch out for her sister."

He pauses, looking down at his shoes.

"Mitch," I say, "What happened? Something with this Gale, the Hawthorne kid?"

He shook his head. "Prim."

"Prim as in Katniss's sister Prim?"

He nods. "I don't know how they found out, probably had the penthouse bugged, that's the only time and place the boy ever mentioned she hunted. And one time, it was said one time. They hada have bugged the house, that's the only logical reason how they'd known she hunted."

He pauses again, shaking his head in dismay.

"What did they do, Mitch?" I press, feeling anger begin to build in me.

"They sent out a new Head Peacekeeper, Romulus Thread." He takes a deep breath, finally looking up from his feet to me. "First day supposedly, he found Prim trading some cheese with the shoemaker. He arrested the girl, took her to the square, and had her cuffed to the whipping post. She was given thirty lashings."

"She's twelve."

"She_ was _twelve." He corrects me.

"What do you mean "was?"" I press, feeling the anger spewing.

"She died boy. Her body couldn't cope with the lashings and she died."

"She was trading fuckin' cheese," I just about shout, my insides boiling with anger. "She wasn't going outside the district or murdering people in the streets! She was trading cheese!"

"Stealing is punishable by death ya know."

I looked to him confused. "Who said she stole the cheese!?"

"Thread, boy, who else would," he tells me as if I hadn't been paying attention.

"Why would he say that!?" The anger within me growing with rage.

"To have a reason to make an example of her. Haven't you been listenin' to me," He says looking me in the eye. "Katniss and others have been sneaking out of this district for years now. Sure they're all just picking berries and shooting quails, but to the Capitol it's not an act of survival, it's an act of _rebellion_."

He snorts shaking.

"A rebellion. That'd be something, that'd be exactly what Snow deserves."

"Mitch," I say pulling him from his thoughts, "But why murder a little girl?"

"A rebellion is the Capitol's worst nightmare, boy. That's why Thread was sent here. To stop any chance of a rebellion even though these people are too inadequate to start one, too busy working themselves into the grave to feed their families."

"_But kill!?_"

"Katniss traded her game. People knew, even the Peacekeepers, and they knew how she got it and how easily she got away with it. Kill the girl's kid sister for selling cheese, make people think twice 'bout what they do."

"That's insane," I say, stating the obvious. "And what, no one stopped this?"

He shakes his head. "If anyone stepped up they would have been good as dead, too."

He pauses looking into the other room at Katniss.

"All these people got in this district got beside their families are their hands and the clothes on their backs. You give your hands to the mines to earn a few coins to feed your family. You give your clothes to you family to keep them warm. And you give yourself to your family; you do whatever you can to make sure they get the best.

You die stepping up for a kid whose sister is most likely to die in the Hunger Games, whose father is already dead, and whose mother is a mental case your family will die, and for a worthless cause. Life may be a shit hole, boy, but you still gotta think before you act, especially when it means life or death."

…

I was seated across from her on the ground.

To my surprise she was asleep. It had been a little over twenty-four hours at this point. It probably been days since the last time she was able to successfully shut her eyes for more than a ten minute period. Plus with the large amount of morphine Haymitch had told me he had to inject her with from going hysterical seemed it would help her stay under.

Letting out a sigh, I pulled myself off the ground and on to my feet. Then raising my hands above my head I stretched out my core before walking into the kitchen.

There I went straight for the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing its cold water against my face. Awake. After a few moments of this, I reached for the faucet and shut off the water. I wiped my hands over my face as if I was using a towel to dry my skin yet it did not succeed to fulfil the job.

I let out another sigh. Then turning away from the sink I cut myself a slice of bread from one of the many loaves in a basket upon the counter. I cut another slice after I had cut my own, placing this one on a plate from the cabinet along with some dried berried from another basket on the counter, creating a nice platter for Katniss when she woke.

I pour myself a drink, one of Haymitch's favorites before returning to Katniss.

I take my same seat on the ground across from her so I sat directly from where I see outside the front of the house as well as the back and so I knew Katniss was fine.

I set her platter on the small table where she lied before eating my own.

The light outside seems and the house seems to grow more silent in time. Haymitch returns twice saying he's checking up on her for Effie's sake, but I know better to know he too is worried. I cut myself another slice of bread which I eat with some cheese and meat I find in the kitchen. I refill my drink as well.

It is after I return from the kitchen, filling the glass for the second time that I find Katniss awakening form her state.

I sit down in my spot and be still.

First, her nose twitches. Then her whole core shifts, uncurling and then re-curling back into herself. Her one hand travels from out under the blanket, flexing as if it was its first time. Her toes curls and then she attempts to open her eyes. She does open them, but not enough to make me believe she can see me. Those gray orbs are clouded and there's no doubt in my mind that the morphine it still swirling around in her blood stream. She squints them so that they look to not even be open. Then slowly, she widens them as she grows accustom to the light filter through the room. When they get to be the widest she can manage, she blinks a few times as to clear her vision.

She doesn't say anything and either do I. Instead like before, after the alcohol situation, she just stares at me, taking my person in and confirming I'm real. And I oblige yet expect the standstill for what it is.

It's sometime before she murmurs a single word at me. "Don't."

And I know - I think I know what she is saying: "_Don't look at me like that. Don't pity me. Don't._"

Then, for some odd reason I find my body acting without my mind consent as I hold my glass out to her, as a gesture and an offering.

And with great pleasure it brings me, she makes the slightest shake of her head.

_No._

And I was happy so because even if she had agreed and reached out for the glass, I wasn't sure I would have given it to her. In her situation and in her state of mind I couldn't allow her to do that - become an addict. It was out of the picture and not only my mind, but was a thought of Peeta's. She wasn't to become and alcoholic like Haymitch or a dripper like Johanna Mason. It would do her the exact opposite of good.

I myself would know that. Pumped on steroids for years and mixed with the trauma of the Games I just about lost my mind, did at one point. And it took over a year, but thanks to all the fucks given, Aurelius slowly helped me wean my body off of that.

Then here, right in front of me by my own hand I had tempted her. I offered Katniss a drink, a liquid escape to all her problems. Yet, I was hopeful to see her deny the gesture. With the Games and the hardships of her district and the Capitol and the death of her sister, she was still stubborn at hell. Good stubborn.

Therefore, withdrawing the glass I set it on the floor behind me. Then reaching for the platter I had made her hours ago, I held in directly in front of her face.

She shook her head again and I shook mine.

"This is not an option."

Her eyes glinted away from me and down at the platter with displeasure.

And so I compensate with her, "Just one bite, that's all."

There's a long pregnant pause that makes my stomach twist before her hand slowly reaches out to the plate, her fingertips being extremely careful in the process to avoid coming in contact with the slice of bread and grab one of the berries instead. Then like that, she pops it into her mouth.

"Good," I say forcing a smile and setting the platter back down on the table, "That's a start."

Her eyes fall and she brings the blanket closer over her so only her face was exposed.

Then, we sit there in silence. The sun disappears, the room goes dark, and the air remains still. Time goes on.


	11. Chapter 11

XI

…

Gale.

Gale Hawthorne.

Gale Hawthorne hadn't come back after his deliverance of news and my breakdown. My best guess was that he was staying clear of me… and I don't know why he would really do so. Maybe it was fear of me breaking even further, Gale was never one to take "emotional" distress or any kind of anguish for the matter well. Or if he had come around, I just hadn't seen him since he told me the news.

I hadn't seen that many people to be clear. There was a minimum selection of guest. Since I had returned, since I had heard the news it hadn't been a very sociable atmosphere.

Effie left not long after my mental collapse, a day later to be exact. She came and saw me. She was dressed in purple, her haired curled to the point, and an uneasy look in her eyes as if she wasn't sure if she should depart or not. She gave me a smile and kissed me on the forehead before turning out of the room, whispering quite words to Haymitch and Cato to take care of me. Then there was no doubt she was down to the train station to return to the Capitol.

Sae and her granddaughter had stopped by once, not long after Effie. I heard her come into the house, her granddaughter bouncing about and Sae scolding her to simmer down. Haymitch had let her in and made small talk about anything, but me and or the Games. I never saw her. She left a pot of rabbit and celery stew in the kitchen and that was the only remnant of her visit.

Madge came by, too. Even though she was really my only other friend beside Gale, her stopping by was still a surprise. She had come by the third time Haymitch had stomped into the room, announcing that I was to bathe. She knocked on the door, but no one ever answered. Haymitch was scared to leave me alone and Cato was… in town? The only reason I knew she had come because when I returned to my room, I saw her blond hair retreating from Victor's Village.

I saw Vick and Posy once through the window of my room one afternoon. They stood on the outskirts of the gate. They looked as if they were going to walk through the ivy covered iron and brick entrance as their eyes flickering between them and the house. But then, Rory came up and his eyes flickered between himself and the house as if he too was going to walk through before walking away.

And Darius had stopped by just the other day. He had, against Cato's best liking it seemed, come up to talk to me. He had come barging into the room his red curls disheveled. I was seated against the headboard and Haymitch sat in a chair across from me. He came and he apologized, he apologized and even shed a few tears. When there was nothing left to say he bowed his head and left.

I hadn't seen that many people since my return, just Cato and Haymitch and more Cato.

Cato. He was always there. Even when I didn't want anyone to be there, but needed someone to be there, he was.

…

"Hey," I hear a familiar and continual voice come from behind me.

Rolling over, I come to see Cato. Blue eyed, blond haired Cato.

He gives me an off crooked smile. "You're awake," he states.

_No, shit_ - I think as stare at him.

"Well, you're not going to like this," he says out front, running his hand along the back of his neck anxiously, "but you have to um… _clean up_ and - and Haymitch isn't here."

_So you got put on "Katniss duty." _

"He said he'd be a while, he went down to town to buy some things that we've run out of…" he trails on, nervously.

_He asked you to keep an eye on me so I don't do anything… risky._

"Sorry." He finally spits out.

And all I can do is nod.

"Okay," he nods, "I'll - I'll give you a moment."

Nodding my head again, I force myself into the sitting position, causing my joints to crack and bones move from their frozen state. Then seated up right, I slip off the bed. I walk across the room and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me before turning on the faucet and allowing the boiling water to spew out.

As steaming water fills the tub, I strip out of my more than day old clothes. I toss them into the hamper by the door and grab a towel from the shelf behind the door, handing it over the bar that holds the shower curtain in place. Then slowly, I step foot into the tub. I sink into the boiling water, allowing it to burn my skin.

When I'm fully emerged, I shut off the faucet and on cue, in the next following few moments the bathroom door is propped open. Cato retreats from the door to sit as far away as possible from me, _as far away as possible_, but still be close enough to keep an eye on me. He gives me as much privacy as he can, all the while being sure nothing risky will occur.

I work fast. I wash the dirt and thin layer of sweat from my skin. I comb my hands through my over and over again, detangling the knots from my hair.

By the time I'm done, the water had gone from steaming to a neutral room temperature. Then looking up, Cato catches my eye. He knows what, nodding his head as he shuts the door allowing me to slip out of the tub as the water drains and wrapping myself in a towel.

I slip out back to the bedroom to find Cato gone.

_Privacy_.

And so quickly I change. I rummage through the closet, looking through all the outlandish and extravagant cloths I would never wear. Finally coming to turns, I find myself with a pair of the tight fitting pants - leggings? spandex? - like the one's Effie had made me wear on return to 12 along with my socks and a sweater that fell down to my mid-thigh.

…

I looked up at him from the table where he asked me to sit on my entrance and asked, "How long?"

"How long what," he asks turning from the stove confused.

"Since I got back," I clear up.

He scoops the egg from the pan, turning the stove off in the process. Then slicing a piece of bread from the loaf beside the stove he sets it on the plate with the egg before coming to sit across from me at the table.

"A little over a month," he's says refusing to look me in the eye as he placed the platter in front of me.

I look at the egg and bread for a moment, my stomach turning in disgust.

"And the tour," I mumble.

"You got a few more months."

I nod and we fall silent. I pick at the platter, not really eating any of it, but just moving it around the plate to make it look as if I had.

And as we sit there, Cato in silence across from me and I in silence pushing my food around like a child Haymitch comes marching through the door. Coming through the door and down the door in such a manner that it would seem to be the first time he had never stood tall and walked as his feet pounded against the ground. So pounding into the room, he drops the bags he carries on the counter before plopping down on one of the chairs at the table, wiping a small glass bottle from his pocket.

"That foods not gonna eat itself, sweetheart," he grunts, taking a drink from the bottle.

I give him a glare.

He cracks a smile.

And I don't know what happens next, but it is as if everything building inside me.

Prim's death.

Haymitch's snarky comments.

Gale's absence.

The patrolling Peacekeepers outside the Village.

My mother's disappearance.

Cato's seeming pity.

Aurelius's constant calls.

Snow's haunting words from the crowning.

Effie's care packages.

Cinna's letters.

Caesar's booming voice on the television.

Everyone's hesitation to approach.

It all just came crashing, boulders down a mountain side. And I just… _snapped_.

Reaching out, I swiped the glass bottle from Haymitch's grasp, still half filled with its clear liquid, before flinging it across the room. It clashes against the opposing wall with a _bang_. It was all like before, after I had run from the Capitol hospital and attacked the numerous Peacekeepers awaiting my coming before stepping foot onto the elevator up to 12th floor and nearly killing Haymitch with his best friend before he fixed me up. Only this time the only difference was I spoke up.

"That glass is not gonna clean up itself, _asshole_."

And then with that, I stand up from my chair, exiting the room.

…

They're not being any more quite than they were an hour ago when Cato had left me in my room to go calm Haymitch down. If anything, they were louder.

And so with such noise coming from down the stairs and my inability to sleep I slip out of my room. I make my way down the hall to where the top of the stairs begin and I take a seat, leaning against the banister and listening in to their conversation.

"That kids gonna be the death of me," I hear Haymitch grunt from below the stairs.

"Mitch." Cato warns.

"No, boy," he says in protest, "Tributes from 12 don't come out alive. They come out and back home in wooden boxes." He grunts. "I was never prepared to do something like this. I mean - fuck, I really don't know how to help her now, I can't even help myself beside drown out with liquor."

There's a pause before he continues again.

"My only advice to them was "stay alive."" He grunts again. "Some fucking advice… I suppose it was about time, twenty-four years, that one of them finally listened."

"Mitch," Cato warns again.

"What, boy, what am I supposed to do!?"

And there's another pause. This one is longer, more drawn out as thought builds.

"You just." I hear Cato say.

""You just?"" Haymitch repeats no doubt confused.

"Yeah."

Haymitch grunts, "A little more than "you just" sort of enlightenment is need here, boy. Remember I'm an old drunk, my brain doesn't work as well as it should."

"You just deal with whatever," Cato lectures him; "There's no booklet on _How To Mentor My Victor Tribute_. And even if there was, it'd be too long with every possibility and scenario possible to man that'd you would die before finish reading it. You just deal with things as they come up."

"So you're just telling to deal with it?" Haymitch presses. "That's it?"

Cato lets out a breath of frustration. "Well there's that and the obvious."

"The obvious."

"Fuck, Haymitch," Cato growls, "I know you're a drunk, but you're not stupid. You have some common sense stored up in that brain of yours, you can think can't you?

You make sure the kid gets attention, but not too much that it drives them insane. You just make sure you're there for them. You make sure they get back to doing things they use to do before the Games, you try to get them to normal as possible. You make sure you're there when the fucking nightmares come and haunt them at night. You make sure they stay away from morphine and liquor and pills.

You make sure they live right and get exactly what they deserve, as close to perfection as you can possibly get because that's what they earned."

There is a long pause.

"That's everything they didn't do for you isn't it?" Haymitch ask, knowing the answer.

But instead of a yes or no, Cato clears his throat saying: "You're going to give her that - perfection. She's going to get it right; you're going to get it right. For once something right is going to happen in the awful hell hole."

"Okay," Haymitch states. "But I'm not going to be the only one, boy. There's no doubt that I'm not gonna be the only one there for her."

There's a pause, a chair shrieks back and then is pushed forward.

"There's no doubt," Cato confirms.

And then there's footstep approaching the stairs and what do I do, a quietly slip away back into my bedroom before Cato can reach the bottom of the banister.


	12. Chapter 12

XII

…

The third stair from the bottom creaks when you step on it. That's how I knew she was up.

When I heard the creak I wasn't asleep. I was just lying in my bed, eyes closed, hoping that maybe I would fall to sleep… peacefully if the world would just allow me for once. Yet it had been hours since I had come into the room and fallen down on the bed and I was sure by now that sleep wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

And so when I heard the creak, my eyes snapped opened as if there was an intruder coming to attack.

It was as it creaked again as the wood was relieved of the pressure it was under that I fully tuned in.

It was her though, without a doubt in my mind. I knew by the way I could hear her feet glide across the wooden floor when she stepped. It's weird to say, but I knew the way she walked and how it sounded.

Haymitch probably out cold in the chair that sat in the corner of her room or else she wouldn't have dared moved from the bed, awaken from her fake slumber.

And so listening as she made her way down the last few stairs and across the hardwood flooring that was in the foyer, I heard her stop. She opened the closest in the hall and rummaged through. The slipping on her boots no doubt, I could hear the dirt from the soles of the shoes falling to the ground and grinding against the wood as she slipped her feet into the fine leather and laced them up.

Quickly I sat up off the bed, pulling the first shirt I saw over my head and slipping on my own boots. I slipped out of my room as she slipped out of the house.

She walked out of the Village and right down through town till she came to the Justice Building where she veered off downhill. I followed her; unsure where she was going until the sight of numerous splintered wood and faddily painted house came into view. It was then that she stopped before entering the community and it was then that she spoke up.

"Did you think I was going to run away? Do something _risky_?"

I shrug my shoulders coming up beside her, "Curious more or less."

She arched her eyebrows at me.

"Maybe a little," I smiled, "You're pretty unpredictable. Plus you did seemed pretty pissed at Mitch the other day."

She shrugged her shoulders, "He deserved it."

I laughed.

And then we continued to walk.

We walk down along the houses. Each building like the next… no higher than a floor even though some seem to be smaller in size, faddily painted white boards that are dusted and stained with coal dirt, splintered wood and broken or cracked or foggy windows, shingles missing from the rooftops and old brick chimneys looking as if they were going to collapse any moment, and tin pales out under the outside water faucets collecting ever droplet.

The ground the homes stood on is rocky and dark with graveled dirt and coal. There is no grassy or lively trees insight, only weeds and fallen leaves. People's cloths hang from lines strung from the front porch or out the back, dripping wet yet drying in the breeze. Some homes have trampy looking cats or dogs lurking around their perimeter as if they were watching out for intruders or awaiting a bone to be thrown their way.

It was poverty, poverty at its finest.

And as we continued our walk through the house that I wasn't quite sure of if we had passed or not, Katniss asked:

"Why do you call Haymitch Mitch?"

"Just a nickname," I shrug.

"You never gave me a nickname," she states.

"Do you want one?"

She seems to think about this for a long moment before responding. "No."

I nod my head asking curiously, "You ever had one?"

She nods her head, but doesn't speak a word.

I don't push and we continue on our walk.

It's when she comes to a halt outside one of the house that looks the same as the others, only the difference or aspect in my opinion that makes it stand out from the others is the small potted flower in the window.

"My father called me _Birdie_," she states, not stopping there though.

"Gale calls me _Catnip_. Sae calls me _girl_. Some kids at school call me _Everdeen_. Some of the merchants call me _Seam Slut_. Haymitch calls me _sweetheart_. Effie calls me _dear_. Cinna calls me the _Girl on Fire_. The Capitol calls me that too, _Girl on Fire_, but then there's _Mockingjay_ as well, for my pin, the token I brought into the arena with me…

I ah - I guess what I'm trying to say is - is it's nice to be just called _Katniss_."

"No one ever called you Kat?"

"Nope," she says popping the "p," "And no one ever will if they know what's good for them."

I smirk, challenging her. "Even if you're feisty like one?"

"Even if I'm feisty as one," she confirms, a small quirk fighting at the corners of her lips.

And then like that we fall silent again. She stares up at the home and I stare with her. Then without reason she turns around and heads back the way we came. And I - I follow her without protest, without a word or action that goes against her drive.

…

We take that walk several times over the next week. It's now a scheduled thing that we plan really, it just happens. It's always in the late evening or early morning when the rest of the district is sound asleep that we go.

She would slip down the stairs from her room when Haymitch was out and when I hear the creak of the third step from the bottom. I followed her lead and make my way from my room down to the foyer. From there we would make our way out the door. We would go out of the Village, down through town toward the Justice Hall before veering down the hill into what I learned was called the Seam.

Katniss would ask a single question at the beginning of every walk and that would be the topic of the evening, morning. They were never questions involving the Games, it seemed a subject she rather distances herself from and I respected that. It was more… "why do you add sugar to your tea and not your coffee" or "why do you have such quite nature instead of boastfulness, it's not much like your district."

We would end at the house with the potted flower and that was where our conversations always seemed to conclude. Then we'd stand there for a long period of time before returning back the way we came.

…

It's the fifth time that we take the walk that she does something out of routine. Instead of how after we stare at the house for several long moments that we retreat the way we came, instead she stepped forward toward the house, slowly and calmly making her way across the rocky and dark with graveled dirt and coal ground up the steps of the house.

"Katniss," I say as she reaches the top step, just feet from the door, "what are you doing?"

But as if she had tuned me out of her head she makes no motion that indicates that she heard me, but continues forward.

Like the stairs, she takes each step to the door slowly and calmly. I watch her move with hesitation and unease. It causes me myself to grow with anxiety as she moves with such uncertain grace.

When she's just inches from the door she stops.

Frozen.

Petrified.

Paralyzed.

Then she snaps out of it and her hand reaches forward. She grasps the doorknob and flings the door open before I can even realize what's happening. She's then gone, disappearing into the house before I can make out a work.

Confused and at unease I take a quick breath, having a short though before sprinting into the house.

The house was dark and the floorboards creaked even when you didn't step on them. The house was odd in a way, as if it had been vacant for months. And the moonlight seemed to prove my thoughts right, a thin layer of dust covering the table and a few cobwebs collecting in the corners of the room and furniture.

_Who lived here?_

Now slowly intruding into the room, I look around for Katniss who was nowhere in sight. And the room itself was not really a sight…

There was a circular wooden table with four chairs seated around it. In front of the fire place was a small rug and a wooden rocking chair. A metal kettle sat on the brim of embers where a fire would have been burning at this time in the fire place. Then over in the kitchen was a large sink tub beside a small counter that had a cabinet above it, filled with few glasses and plates and pots and pans.

A short hall led out of the room, three other doors lining it, bedrooms and a bathroom I assumed.

There was a slam of a door, the door I had come through into the house by that caused to me turn around. There was nothing there though when I turned, just the emptiness of the early morning like how it was always.

Back around my heart stuttered when I saw Katniss near the hall.

She was okay.

She stood there still, like before moments building up to her entering the house. She was frozen, petrified, and paralyzed. She stood there like a statue, clutching a worn, leather jacket and a brown, leather bounded book close to her chest. She held them as if they were her life, her clutches white with intensity.

"Katniss?" I asked cautiously, taking a step to her.

She didn't respond though, but continued to stand still like a statue unresponsive.

"Ka-" I begin again yet don't let out the rest of her name as I watch a single tear glide down her cheek.

_What?_

And then as I took another step toward her, the floorboards creaked and something scampered out from under the sink.

A cat.

It was a cat. It was a cat of average size, neither obese nor starving. It had black eyes and a muddy yellow coat that was nearly a dark orange.

It seemed so familiar yet deep in the back of my mind I knew I had never seen the animal before.

Looking back to Katniss now as the cat made no more movement, I found her slumped down on the floorboards. The jacket and book were still held to her chest, but with less force. Her knees were bent in for comfort along with her shoulders. Strands of stray hairs fell and stuck to her face as quietly tears escaped the corners of her eyes.

Gently I went over, taking her in my arms and picking her up.

She didn't disagree.

When I had picked her up off the ground, beyond the cat the flowered pot in the window caught my eye. It was a soft blend and yellow. It did not stand tall from the soil. Its steam looked to be slightly limp and his leaves not as dark as they should have.

And then it hit me.

The flower was a primrose.

Primrose, Prim had a cat, Katniss had mentioned it before.

Buttercup I think it was named.

Katniss hated the thing.

She said it never went far from Prim.

The flower and the house -

This was the Everdeen home.

This was where Katniss grew up.

Taking in a breath I give her a soft squeeze before exiting the house and retreating the way we came.

…

She didn't talk or move or do much for the next couple of days after that. It was as if she was still that statue. Though after dinner one night – late - when going to check on her she wasn't in her room, she wasn't in the house. And as much as Haymitch assured me she was fine I still worried.

It was hours later when she came back; it was early the next morning when we heard the front door open and close. Haymitch and I were seated in the kitchen waiting for her.

She came in without a word.

In her hands she carried the potted primrose plant and in the other was a brown bag from which a hissing noise came.

"Sweetheart," Haymitch greeted to which he received no response.

Instead she went right other to the window above the sink where she placed the plant. Then over to us she came and placed the bag on the table.

She left after that, up to her room.

And it took a few moments, but after a bit the cat from before popped out, Buttercup.

"Next you know she'll be bringing a bear home and a tree for the living room," Haymitch grumbles, taking the cat under his arm and he himself retreating.

And I - I sat there and let the smile I had been holding back break across my lips.

She was getting there, to normal. She wasn't happy necessarily about it, but she was getting there. She was recovering, steadily, but slowly and that was okay.


	13. Chapter 13

XIII

…

The damn cat became Haymitch's best friend. I swear the man was slipping it droplets of his alcohol supply into its water bowl or food or something. Or maybe it could have been their shared personality of being a pain in the ass that brought them so close.

Either way, Haymitch wasn't the only one that _it_ seemed to be comfy around. The thing liked to curl up at Cato's feet. Sure it hissed at him every now and then, but for the most part they were pretty close.

…

Coming down off the steps, Buttercup is sitting, curling at the door. His head perks up as he hears the third stair from the bottom creak as I step off of it. He gives me a glare and lets a deathly hiss sneak through his teeth.

"I'll drown you," I hiss in a low hush voice at him.

His ears perk up at this and he keeps eye contact.

"Don't test me."

He lets at a soft hiss and cocks his head as if he is testing me, as if he doesn't believe I'll do it.

And so willing to prove him wrong, a smirk grows across my face. I take a quick step forward, causing a loud thud to ring through the hall. His spin perks up in fear and he quickly scampers to his feet, sprinting out of the room as quickly as his feet will carry him.

Smirking to myself, I retreat out of the hall and into the kitchen.

Haymitch stands at the counter, packing bottles from the cabinets into a wooden box.

"What are you doing?"

"Movin' out," he grunts, shutting the cabinet door as he takes the last bottle from it.

"Where to?"

He snorts. "I do have my own home, sweetheart. I lived fairly alone and well for the last twenty-four years before you showed up."

"Oh," I say, looking down. "Right."

"I'm not going far, sweetheart, I'll be right next door."

I nod.

"You okay with this?" He asks with a concerned tone.

I don't answer his question, but ask him a question in return. "Did I do something?"

"Did you do something," he repeats, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

I nod.

"No," he says. "It's just that you gotta start… living in a sense, again. I've been here over a month. And a lot has happened in that time, you're not as bad as you were when you arrived." He tells me bluntly, continuing, "Don't take that the wrong way, though, you're still screwed up… we're all screwed up, it don't ever change."

He pauses giving me a thin, sad smile.

"But I can't be sleeping in that rocking chair in your room forever, sweetheart. I'll fuck my back up even more than it already is and people will start to think badly about us. You've been getting better, but you ain't gonna get anymore better with me around watchin' your every move. Ya may be forever screwed, but y can always be forever less screwed." He snorts. "And I'm not always gonna be 'round, you gotta accept that sooner than later."

I nod, understanding what he's saying… but at the same time, not liking what he's saying, especially because it's the truth.

"I'm gonna be right next door," he promises me.

So watching him pick up the box of alcohol he gives me a smile, walking to the front door. Yet before he leaves, he turns and gives me another smile.

"Plus ya know I'll be over here most days," he quirks, "That cat makes a great drinking partner."

"You can take the cat with you." I offer.

Yet he shakes his head. "That little sucker needs ya, girl, and you need it, too, no matter how much you may wanna kill it."

I let out a huff, rolling my eyes and he smiles.

Then opening the door, he looks to me one last time- "You're not gonna be alone in this house without me around anyway, the boy's still here."

…

There's something off about Cato when I see him approaching the house later on. I spot him from the steps of my house walking toward the Village from quite a distance, but can still tell something it off. It's as he comes closer that I see it. There's a large forming black and blue bruise forming along the side of Cato's forehead.

I can tell he has tried to hide the bruise, maybe form me or Haymitch or maybe both of us, by the way his hairs combed towards it in a sad attempt to hid it.

And I don't know what overcomes me, but the moment he steps foot into the Village I am over and by his side.

"What happened?" I ask bluntly.

"Nothing, Katniss."

"That's not nothing," I tell him, pointing to the bruise.

He lets out a breath. "Katniss."

"_No._" I say in a stern voice.

He nods knowing I won't give in. "Not here, let's go inside."

And there knowing that if I don't agree this, whatever this was, would be blown out of proportion and or Cato wouldn't tell me how he got the bruise so all I could do was nod.

We fell silent then and retreated to the house. We went inside without a word and took off our jackets and boots without a word. We went into the kitchen without a word where Cato stood on one side of the counter and I stood on the bother, only the counter and the bag of groceries Cato had set on top of it separating us.

When I long moment had finally passed I ask, "How?"

He looked down at the bag and began to unpack its contents.

"I went down to town," he tells me, pulling things from the bag and setting them in certain places around the kitchen. "We were running low of things, especially since Mitch took just about every remnant of food with him when he moved out on Thursday. I went to the Justice Hall to see if there was any mail for you, general store for rice and dried plums, the butcher for some meat, and then-"

He stops, officially done empting the bag.

"Where?" I ask, a place coming to mind. A feared place of such wonder and horror.

He looks up at me, chin up and stature tall.

"I went to the bakery," he tells me. "Was going to buy a loaf of bread."

"And?"

"And it wasn't the older gentleman, Mr. Mellark I presume, as it had been the few times I had gone before."

"_Her?_"

He confirms, "Mrs. Mellark? Yes."

"How?" I press, tears building at the corners of my eyes.

"I came in and I was the only one there. She mumbled something about you, I didn't catch what she really said, but I knew it wasn't anything nice. I brushed it off and asked for one of the loaves of bread they had in the display case. It was when she came back to the counter to wrap it I gave her my condolences. Next thing I knew she had hit me across the head with a rolling pin and a boy who looked about my age was restraining her. She just thrashed and screamed. And so I apologized to her and the boy, her son I assume, and left."

I shake my head, tears now streaming down my cheeks. I try to wipe them away, but it does no good.

"Hey," I hear Cato say, coming around to my side of the counter to pull me into a hug. "I'm okay. Everything's fine."

I shake my head against his chest. "No."

"No what?"

"Everything's not okay. She - she use to do that - do that to Peeta. Hit him."

And I'm not sure if he really knows what I am trying to say, but when his arms give my tiny frame a soft squeeze I know that on some level he understands.

He understands.

…

When I calm down Cato makes some rice for us, serving me a small bowl.

It takes a lot of effort and a lot of stern looks, but over time, like always he gets me to eat.

Yet, I make him make a deal with me to get what he wants, for me to eat.

And so he willingly agrees to report Mrs. Mellark to the Peacekeepers if she attacks him.

…

It's dark when there's a knock at the door.

Haymitch had left hours ago after having a good laugh when Buttercup had pawed Cato's now yellowing bruise. And Cato had not gone out as far as I knew.

It was odd. A thousand things ran through my head as I watched from a distance as Cato went to open the door.

_Mrs. Mellark?_

_Gale?_

_Thread?_

_Sae?_

_Claudius?_

_Rory?_

_Madge?_

_Hazel?_

_My mother?_

_Cinna?_

_Effie?_

_President Snow?_

_Caesar?_

Yet when the Cato pulled open the door I didn't see the figure that stood on the other side of the frame.

But I assumed it was someone Cato knew as they talked for a few minutes. Muttered words I could not make out. I could have taken a few steps forward from where I stood to get a better ear for what was being conversed yet I feared I would be seen by whomever stood talking to Cato and it would just end badly.

So I stood still and waited.

When they were done talking, something was handed to Cato, wrapped in a thin wrapping of white paper. He nodded his head in approval before shutting the door.

He came down the hall in silence.

It was when he was just feet from me I knew what was in the thin wrapping of white paper. It wasn't by the look of it, it was by the smell. It was the smell of grains and flour and fire and freshness that I always remembered smelling when Gale and I would go behind the bakery and the back door would open when Mr. Mellark came out to trade with us.

It was bread.

Then as he placed the bread on the counter before retreating back to spot on the armchair it hit me-

"Was it her?"

He shakes his head, sitting down. "The boy, Rye."

I nod to myself.

And then he adds, "He said his father would be stopping by soon to talk to you."

…

"_You gonna come down, 12, or are you gonna be difficult?" The boy from 2, Ramsey sneered. _

_I sit in there tree silently in my branch, watching the scramble below, trying to figure how to kill me, at the very least how to get me out of the tree. _

"_We won't bit," his district partner, Clove, smiles. "At least not that much," she says, flashing me her pearly white._

"_Com'on," Ramsey says, "It won't be so bad. We'll play nice, we'll make it painless if you come down now rather than later." _

_I stay where I am through. Leaning into the trunk of the tree as if I was trying to become one with it I know there's no way I would be willingly leaving my well protected spot in the tree. _

_It's in that moment I hear Peeta's voice over the others._

"_Katniss," he pleads, eyes looking to with me such concern and sorrow._

_And then I see the glint of the edge of a knife before the boy from 1, Marvel, smiles and stabs the knife through the back of Peeta's neck._

_Everything freezes and steads up. Peeta's body stands up straight as if a thousand volts of electricity had gone through his spine. He opens his mouth as if he was going to scream, but he doesn't, choking on his own blood._

_The canon sounds._

"No!" I scream, shooting up from my bed.

My body in panic as my throat burns and heart pounds, hairs sticks to my sweat covered forehead and muscles seem to petrified, my chest contrast and mind running out of control, vision blurred and joints solidify, I through myself against the headboard in fear when the door to my room slams open with a bang!

"Katniss," I hear a concerned voice ask.

I shake my head, curling into the fetal position, and allowing the tears to slip down my cheeks as I squeeze my eyes shut. "No."

"No what?" Cato ask, hands running up and a down my shoulders in a soothing motion.

"No," I repeat, shaking my head.

He lets a breath, sinking onto the bed, and pulling me against his chest.

"It's okay. You're fine. It's only a dream."

I continue to shake my head, now blubbering worse than before. My cheeks like a waterfall, my eyes blurred form the excessive amount of tears, and my nose dripping slim.

He continues to _shhh_ me and whispers soothing words and rubs my arms and makes circles along my back while I continue to cry and sniffle and shake and mumble.


End file.
